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Jack Tom 

To my twin sons, Jack and Tom, I affectionately dedicate these two small 
volumes. 

To Jack, ‘ Down at Stein’s Pass.” 

To Tom, “Down at Cross Timbers.” 


DOWN at STEIN’S PASS 

— A — 

ROMANCE OF NEW MEXICO 


-By- 


P. S. McGEENEY, 

w 

Author of Down at Cross Timbers. 



1909 

Angel Guardian Press 
Boston, Mass. 


Copyright, 1909, 

by; 

P. S. McGeeney. 



©CLA253566 


CONTENTS. 


Chapter Page 

I. A Government Survey. i 

II. The Lone Cabin on the Plains. 6 

III. The Cavern in the Mountains. io 

IV. The Stage Coach Hold-up. 15 

V. Stein’s Pass. Our First Meeting with 

Pat Garrett. 19 

VI. Livingston’s Ranch, Near the Gila. 25 

VII. Lordsburg. Pursued by Geronimo. 32 

VIII. The Murder of the Livingstons. 37 

IX. A Ride for Life. 42 

X. Back Amongst the Old Folks. 49 

XI. After Darkness Came Light. 53 

XII. The Missing Papers. 59 

XIII. On the Trail. 65 

XIV. What My Visit to Livingston’s Ranch 

Brought Forth. 72 

XV. The Secret Died with Him. 78 

XVI. Pat Garrett’s Vow. 82 

XVII. Ten Years Afterwards. 87 

XVIII. Marcia Lewis. 94 

XIX. Found at Last. 104 




























































































1 






































CHAPTER I. 


A Government Survey. 

AS I sit alone to-night, listening to the moaning 
-*** of the wind, and the sound of the rain beating 
upon the roof, together with the vivid flashes of 
lightning and the distant roar of thunder, it calls 
back to my memory with a shudder, the night I spent 
in a desolate little cabin, on the plains of southwestern 
New Mexico. 

I was one of the government engineers sent to the 
wilds of New Mexico to complete the unfinished sur- 
vey commenced some years before, but which was 
never completed on account of the outlaws that infested 
that country; these, in conjunction with the roving 
bands of Indians, kept the engineer corps from 
finishing the lines which were partly run through that 
country. 

Our party consisted of tw r enty-five men, including 
the cook, and our outfit three four-mule teams, and 
three burros — the burros were kept to convey food and 
water for our noon-day meal. 

It was customary that every morning one of 
the men would start with the laden burros, to some 
point agreed upon, a hill, mountain, clump of trees, 
or some other object, that he would reach that point 
at noon, where he would wait until the arrival of the 
men, and after the meal was served he would start 
the burros back for the camp. The day and night in 


2 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


question, which I will write about, is in every sense of 
the word, true, and taken from facts as they occurred. 

I was detailed upon this particular morning to drive 
the burros to a certain hill, which could be plainly 
seen in the distance. After the morning sun had driven 
the mists skywards, not a cloud appeared on the hor- 
izon, and not a breath of air stirred the leaves or the 
bushes which grew around our camp. After strapping 
the packs securely upon the burros’ backs, and securing 
my arms, I threw my Winchester over my shoulder, 
and started for my destination. Taking a southeasterly 
direction across the plains, I concluded that I would 
reach the base of the hill where we agreed to 
meet at about ten o’clock; this would give me about 
two hours to rest before the survey would overtake 
me. 

I walked along at a swinging gait, sometimes whis- 
tling, sometimes singing, as nothing occurred to detain 
me, and at last I reached the appointed place as I 
had intended, about two hours before the men would 
arrive. After I had taken the packs from the burros, 
I placed them underneath a shelf-like niche in the 
shade of the rock, so that the heat of the sun w T ould 
not spoil their contents, I lay down beside them to 
watch the burros, which after being relieved of their 
loads, commenced to roll. When they were satisfied 
with this pastime, they started to graze upon the small 
leaves of some stunted mesquite bushes, which grew a 
short distance from where I had camped. 

How long I had lain in the shade of the friendly 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS.. 


3 


rock I cannot tell. I must have fallen asleep, for when 
I awoke the sun had almost disappeared behind the 
distant hills, but it was still light enough for me to see 
plainly my surroundings. The burros, together with 
their packs, had disappeared as if the ground had 
opened and swallowed them. I was bewildered. 
There I stood alone upon the bleak hillside, not a 
habitation within miles of me, and the camp which I 
had left that morning was at least ten miles distant, 
the direction of which I had forgotten. Night was 
fast approaching, and with its arrival came a storm. 
I was at my wit’s end,, and I must admit that I was 
badly frightened. 

I was just fresh from the East, and having heard 
about the awful Indian outrages, and the cruelties per- 
petrated by the lawless bands of renegade white men, 
who at that time infested the mountains, and plains 
of that country, increased my fear tenfold, and every 
sound made my hair stand upon end, and the thoughts 
that passed through my mind were indescribable. 
Darkness was fast closing around me and I concluded 
to stay in the shelter of the friendly rock where I had 
slept so soundly during the heat of the day, protected 
from the sun’s blistering rays. 

I seated myself upon the edge of the rock and was 
lost in meditation upon my lonely condition. I 
had pictured to myself that I would die of starvation; 
how the wolves would fight over my remains, and how 
my bones would bleach under the sun’s cruel rays; 


4 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


and it makes me shudder even now, when I think of 
that awful night. 

Then I pictured to myself the anxiety of the loved 
ones at home; how they would wait in vain for the 
letter that never came, of tidings of one they loved so 
well. How long my musings continued is not in the scope 
of recollection; the air was dry and sultry, and a storm 
was fast approaching. In the distance could be heard 
the dismal howls of a pack of coyotes, which did not 
add any charm to my surroundings. 

The howling of the wolves came nearer and nearer. 
How could I defend myself against so many, in the 
darkness? I tightened my pistol belt and saw that 
my knife was near at hand. I took my rifle and 
crawled up the hill to the rock which was to be my 
home during the long, dreary night. I stood upright 
for an instant when my heart leaped within me and my 
blood seemed to freeze in my veins. 

In my imagination I heard a sound, a human voice 
hallooing far down the valley ; that sound,- that voice, 
whether it was friend or foe was welcome to my ears. 
I strained my eyes gazing into the inky blackness of 
the night and with all my might I tried to penetrate 
its darkness. 

I watched and listened for a time, which seemed 
ages to me, and my efforts to locate the sound were at 
last rewarded by some one hallooing at the top of his 
voice. I looked in the direction from whence the 
sound came and there before my vision was a spark, 
an earthly light made by the hand of man. Could my 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


5 


eyes deceive me? No, this could not be; for there 
it shone, bright as a beacon light, on that bleak, 
desolate plain. I started towards it upon a run not 
caring where it might lead me to. Once I fell heavily 
upon the ground and lay for a time stunned and 
bleeding. 

On rising to my feet I found that my left knee was 
badly sprained and it was with much difficulty that I 
could walk. As I struggled along I found consolation 
whenever my eyes rested upon the light which ap- 
peared at times out of the awful darkness. The wind 
commenced to blow and in the distance could be heard 
the rumblings of thunder; vivid flashes of lightning 
illuminated the heavens. All these changes I noted 
as I painfully trudged along lessening the distance be- 
tween the hill, my haven of rest, and the light, not more 
than a quarter of a mile below me. 


CHAPTER II. 


The Lone Cabin on the Plains. 

I STRUGGLED bravely on, and although my knee 
pained me beyond human endurance* a prayer 
rose to my lips, and I thanked God for my deliverance. 

I paused near the cabin hesitatingly to debate with 
myself what would be the best plan for me to pursue. 
Before I could form one the bottom seemed to fall out 
of the clouds and the rain poured down in torrents; 
never in all my life had I witnessed such a violent 
storm. 

The rain spurred me to action and I hesitated no 
longer. I opened the door of the cabin and as I stood 
upon the threshold I observed the surroundings: 
Seated around a rude table were three rough looking 
men, as rough looking as I had ever beheld in my life. 
Upon the floor, lying in a comer near the fire which 
illuminated the whole interior, was a man about forty 
years of age. His smooth-shaven face, demeanor and 
clothing denoted that he was a refined and educated 
man, and upon closer inspection, I noticed that his 
feet were bound together and his hands were securely 
fastened behind his back; upon seeing me his features 
lit up with a hopeful expression; it flashed through my 
mind that he was a PRISONER. 

How long I might have stood there before those 
around the table would have noticed me, I cannot tell. 


7 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 

K ^ 

I advanced a few steps before they were aware of my 
presence. > One of the men looked up from thejmap 
he held upon the table and at the same moment reached 
for his pistol. 4 Then he addressed me. 

“Pard, where be yer from?” and covered me with 
his pistol. 

Many things passed through my mind as I gazed 
into the depths of the barrel of the revolver, aimed 
at my heart. Again before my vision came the 
picture of my dead body, the wolves fighting over it, 
and the anguish upon the faces of my loved ones at 
home. 

In a short space of time all my life’s actions, good 
and bad, had passed before my mind’s eye, and for the 
first time I became aware how sweet it was to live ; and 
I was not prepared to die. After my surprise was 
over I found my voice, and related to them all that had 
happened to me since I had left camp. A look of mis- 
trust passed over their faces. Not a word was spoken 
by any of them. Imagine my surprise, a few moments 
later, to find myself securely bound, hand and foot, 
and thrown into the corner with the other man whom 
I first observed as I entered the cabin. 

God only knew the agony I was about to endure. 
My knee had swollen twice its normal size, and the ropes 
that bound me commenced to eat into my flesh. 
Hunger was now gnawing at my vitals, but this I soon 
forgot, and it was nothing in comparison with the other 
pains I was enduring. On more than one occasion 
tears found their way to my eyes, but I crowded them 


8 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


back and was ashamed less some of my captors might 
see my weakness. I tried to forget my sufferings in 
sleep, but this was denied me. 

The wind would moan around the chinks in the 
cabin and the thunder would crack with a deafening 
roar, as if some mighty armies were in mortal combat. 

How I spent that dreary night I cannot tell. De- 
spair had at last entered my soul and I asked myself 
over and over again if there was a God above, let Him 
show Himself in mercy to me. My sufferings were so 
intense that I must have swooned away for some time, 
for the first thing that I remember was that some one 
dashed a bucket of water into my face and I awoke 
almost strangled; there stood the trio of rough looking 
men armed to the teeth, and I was not long in coming 
to the conclusion that we were about to leave the cabin. 
One of our captors cut the ropes that bound us, and 
bade us arise. The other prisoner succeeded in rising 
to a standing position, but try as I would, I could not 
stand. It seemed that it would be impossible for me 
to ever walk again. 

The pain that I was enduring was excruciating, and 
when the outlaws were satisfied as to my condition and 
physical strength they bore me out of the cabin and plac 
ed me upon a horse. The other man mounted his horse 
with much difficulty, and the order was given to march, 
and we started off in a southern direction across a 
beautiful valley. On one side ran a small river, which 
contained an abundance of pure fresh water. On the 
other side the hills rose in peaks, covered with various 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


9 


kinds of vegetation, which grows in extensive propor- 
tions in that climate. 


CHAPTER III. 


The Cavern in the Mountains. 

A S near as I can remember it was nearly four 
o’clock in the afternoon when we drew rein 
and ascended a small canyon, for a quarter of a mile, 
and stopped in front of a cave. The entrance was 
completely hidden by a small clump of bushes. We were 
ordered to dismount and to my surprise I found that I 
could walk unassisted. We entered the cave which 
was almost fifty feet square. Around the walls 
were constructed about fifteen rude beds and sitting 
near a small desk-like table was a very tall and hand- 
some man; his dark, bead -like eyes seemed to pene- 
trate you, to read your inmost thoughts. 

Without taking his gaze from off my face he asked 
one of my captors who I was, and he replied, that I 
was a Government officer, and had come sneaking 
around while they were camped in the cabin, the night 
before, and he just brought me along. 

With a wave of his hand he bade me retire and I was 
taken to the far end of the cave, and was given one of 
the rude beds to rest upon. My hunger knew no 
bounds, as I had not tasted food for six and thirty 
hours. I was very weak and my knee pained me be- 
yond endurance. One of my captors on seeing my sink- 
ing condition brought me food — a piece of bread 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


ii 


and a chunk of dried beef. I did not wait for cere- 
mony but devoured the bread and meat until the last 
crumb was gone. 

I felt better and tried to see the silvery lining in the 
black cloud which had darkened my horizon. I lay 
down upon my rude bed, thinking of the chain of events 
which had occurred since I had left the camp. Would 
the boys turn out and look for me? What had 
become of the burros and their packs? Many 
other questions I asked myself, but I could not find 
suitable answers for any of them. My thoughts had 
turned to the idea that was uppermost in my mind: 
How was I to escape? I put the thought of escaping 
from me at this time, as my condition would keep me 
amongst them for the present. 

What had become of the other prisoner ? He was the 
more important of the two. Why was he a prisoner ? 
This I could not answer. After taxing my brain until 
I was exhausted, I fell into a deep sleep, and awoke the 
next morning very much refreshed. Everything was 
quiet within the cave, and as my eyes became ac- 
customed to the dim, uncertain light, which penetrated 
the cavern through the opening which we had entered 
the evening before, I became aware that every bed in 
the room was filled with men, and all were asleep. The 
time had arrived for me to make my escape, so I left 
my bed and crawled painfully along upon my hands 
and knees to the entrance of the cave, and was in the act 


12 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


of passing out when some one upon the outside com- 
manded me to halt. My heart stopped beating for an 
instant, and this command struck terror to me. 

I was so near to liberty and it was denied me. If 
my condition would have permitted me, I would have 
done batde with the owner of that voice* for my liberty. 

I was conducted back through the cave into a smaller 
one, where all light was excluded. I was securely 
fastened by a chain to a ring in the wall, where I was 
left alone; not a sound disturbed the stillness except 
the retreating echoing foot falls of my captor. In my 
condition many thoughts passed through my brain. 
How long must I stay buried in the bowels of the earth ? 
I groped my way around the damp walls, to see if 
there was an opening other than the one I had entered 
by. My efforts were at last rewarded for one of my 
hands fell into space. I next examined the chain that 
held me to the wall, and imagine my surprise to find 
that in some unsuspected manner the chain had become 
unfastened from the wall. My joy knew no bounds 
when I knew that I was free. How much that word 
meant to me! 

I groped my way through the opening with the chain 
hanging to my waist, following the winding passage 
until I ran against a solid wall of rock. 

I must confess that I was becoming alarmed and the 
inky blackness of my surroundings did not add balm 
to my over-wrought nerves. I stopped to collect my 
scattered senses, not knowing which way to turn, and 
I had come to the conclusion that I would retrace my 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


13 


steps back to the cavern where I was held a prisoner. I 
had made a step or two in that direction when I was 
suddenly brought to a standstill by a sound; a sound 
that floated to my ears as if it had escaped from human 
lips, which made my blood freeze within my veins; 
then a moan; this was followed by one word, “Help!” 
I was as if petrified. Could this passage contain anyone 
in more need of help than I? My thoughts reverted 
again to my fellow-prisoner of the day before. I be- 
came brave and called back in a guarded tone: 

“ Who called for help ? ” v 

A voice so unnatural, so full of despair, answered 
back, “ HELP ! For the love of God, HELP !” 

I started forward directed by the sound of the voice 
and with much difficulty found its owner. 

At this moment a happy thought entered my mind, 
and I reached into the pocket of my shirt and there to 
my satisfaction I found a small number of matches. 
How I ever had forgotten their existence I can not tell. 
I lit one of the matches, and as it illumined the dark- 
ness, I surveyed my surroundings. There upon the 
floor, chained to the stone wall, was the man whom I 
had first accosted in the cabin. 

I will not try to describe the look of anguish that 
was spread over his features; for all that was in my 
mind at that time was a plan for the most expeditious 
means for his release. 

I took the chain in my hands and examined it, link 
by link, until I had reached the ring in the wall, which 
I found was almost eaten up with rust. With a super- 


14 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


human effort I tore the ring asunder, and he was free. 
I lit another match and explored the surrounding walls 
of the cave and my search was rewarded by finding a 
small door at the top of a short flight of stairs, which 
were hewn out of the solid rock. 

Together we ascended the stairs and with much 
difficulty I opened the door. To my surprise a breath 
of pure fresh air fanned my brow. What a Godsend 
it was, an elixir to our falling hopes, which fanned us 
into action. 

We started up the passage which gradually grew 
narrower as we ascended, so that we were obliged to 
proceed single file. I started forward and my com- 
panion brought up the rear, holding onto the chain 
that was fastened around my waist. 

We struggled along in the darkness in this manner 
for a space of time, which seemed ages to us, and when 
we were about to give up in despair, through weakness, 
a faint glimmer of light came down the passage way, 
as a message from above, to stimulate and spur us on- 
ward to the goal, to a successful termination of our 
weary march from the loathsome bowels of the earth. 
We pushed forward as fast as our tottering legs 
would carry us, and after a laborious ascent of about a 
half hour, we found ourselves emerging from an open- 
ing at the top of a hill. We sank upon the ground and 
a silent prayer rose to our lips. 


CHAPTER IV. 


The Stage Coach Hold-up. 

'W'EVER in all my life did Mother Earth seem so 
beautiful. The sun beamed fiercely down upon 
u§, but we never cared for that for we were glad to see 
its grand light once again. We rested for a short time 
while I removed the chains that clung to us during our 
escape through the passage from the cave. 

For the first time since we came into the light of 
day I noticed the gaze that my companion cast upon 
me. He was trying to find words which would ex- 
press his thoughts. At last he exclaimed: 

“ Young man, whom have I the honor to thank for 
my release? What is your name?” 

“Alden Raymond.” 

“My name,” offering his hand, “is Livingston, 
Patrick Livingston. And your home, Mr. Raymond?” 

“Is in Boston.” 

“At another time Mr. Raymond, when we are in a 
place of safety, I will tell you something of my life and 
of my family, as this is neither the time nor place to 
exchange confidences.” 

I agreed with him in this matter; and when we had 
rested for some short time, we were both of the opinion 
that it was high time for us to move to a more secure 
neighborhood, as there was no telling how soon our 


i6 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


escape would be discovered and a search be instituted 
for our capture again. 

Before choosing a route we looked up and down the 
valley, then over the plain to discover if there was a 
trail visible that we might follow. 

Off in the distance we noticed a cloud of dust and a 
dim speck appeared upon the horizon. 

We watched it as it grew larger and larger; on it 
came winding around a clump of bushes here, and a 
boulder there, and as it came nearer we could plainly 
see that it was a stage coach drawn by a three double- 
mule team. On the top of the coach we could see the 
driver coil and uncoil his long lash, which he sent 
spinning after the leaders. On the seat beside him 
sat another man, evidently the express messenger; a 
rifle was held in the hollow of his arm. 

We hesitated no longer and hailed the stage as a 
ship- wrecked sailor hails a sail. We started as fast as 
our tottering legs would carry us, keeping the coach 
in sight as we ran. From the opposite direction 
another cloud of dust was visible, and as it drew near 
we could distinguish a band of horsemen. At that 
time the stage was hidden from view as it had descended 
into a small creek. As we pressed on we could see 
that the stage was heavily laden with passengers and 
mail. 

The mules were standing in the middle of the stream 
satisfying their thirst. We pushed on as fast as we 
could and hallooed to the driver who saw us and was 
awaiting our approach. 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


17 


When we were about three hundred yards from the 
coach we saw the horsemen approaching, and as they 
descended into the creek we recognized them as our 
captors. Needless to say, Mr. Livingston and I com- 
menced to look for a place of safety, which we found 
by falling down flat upon the ground among some tall 
bunch grass which skirted the creek. We watched 
until they had surrounded the stage. 

A shot rang out and I saw one of the men reel from 
his saddle, then another shot was heard, and the brave 
messenger fell from his seat upon the top of the coach 
into the creek. 

There before our eyes was a hold-up in true western 
style; the leader of the outlaws aimed his rifle at the 
driver’s head and commanded him to, drive out of the 
water to dry land. There was nothing left for him to 
do but comply with his request. 

When the stage had driven out of the water the chief 
ordered all of the passengers out in a row, and we could 
see him collecting everything of value from all of the 
passengers; even the women had to part with their 
jewels. 

After he had finished collecting toll he next turned 
his attention to the treasure box of the express company; 
while he was engaged breaking it open two others of 
the gang were ripping open and pilfering all the valua- 
bles contained in the mail pouches. 

When they had secured everything of value they 
picked up their dead companion, strapped him upon 


1 8 DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 

his horse and hastily rode away leaving nothing but 
sorrow behind them. 

When they were out of sight, we went to the assist- 
ance of the driver who was trying to place the body of 
the dead messenger upon the top of the coach. While 
we were assisting him with his gruesome task, the rest 
of the passengers took their places inside. After 
placing the corpse where it would not fall off we gathered 
up the broken treasure box, and what was left of the 
mail pouches. After securely fastening them to the 
back of the stage, we climbed upon the top, Mr. 
Livingston taking the vacant seat beside the driver, 
and I a place beside the dead messenger; then we 
started off-. 


CHAPTER V. 


Stein’s Pass. Our First Meeting with Pat 
Garrett. 


'T'HERE was no one whom we cared to ask regarding 
our destination, as there was sorrow in every 
heart for the brave man who did not shirk from 
duty, and gave his life to protect the property intrusted 
to his care; so we continued our journey in silence, 
as every one was busy with his own thoughts. By 
hard driving all the afternoon we reached a small town 
known as “Stein’s Pass.” 

I am sure that there was never a happier pair than 
Mr. Livingston and myself as the stage rumbled down 
the only street and stopped in front, of an inn, known 
as the “Cowboy’s Rest.” 

How grateful we were to our host Jimmie, Little, 
who saw at a glance our pitiful condition. After we 
had satisfied our hunger we retired to a room and were 
soon in the land of dreams. 

“O blessed sleep, how thou dost blot out by thy 
mysterious power, the keen sense of pain which causes 
tears to flow from the eyes and wrings without pity the 
poor bleeding heart of man!” 

When I arose the next morning, the sun was slowly 
coming up over the distant hilltops, and with its ascent 
my spirits rose. After a hasty bath I descended and 
as I stepped upon the veranda, in front of the inn, I 


20 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


was greeted by a cheery “ Good morning, Alden, ^ my 
boy. How do you find yourself this morning?” 

“Never better in my life, Mr. Livingston,” I replied. 

“ I was thinking, Alden,” Mr. Livingston continued, 
“that if I could persuade you to go with me to my 
ranch, and if agreeable I would give you charge of the 
place, as I must soon return to the East; and I have no 
one that I can entirely trust during my absence. I can 
never thank you enough for liberating me from the 
hands of those men who sought my life. Come, now, 
what do you say? I can trust you and we can get 
along famously together.” 

I hardly knew what to say for the terms that he 
offered me were tempting. I was in duty bound to 
serve out my time until the end of the year with the 
Engineering Corps, and finish the work we had under- 
taken for the Government. He noticed my hesita- 
tion and said, “Your conscience seems to have some- 
thing to say in this matter; nevermind it, this time; 
come with me. I cannot get along without you, for I 
can never repay you for all that you have done for me.” 

There was such a look of entreaty upon his face, and 
I could read that he meant it all, every word from the 
bottom of his heart, I hesitated no longer, and told him 
that I would accept the place he offered me upon his 
ranch. Tears came into my eyes as he took me by the 
hand and said, “Alden, my boy, my son, you are the staff 
I will lean upon. To you I will intrust my life, my 
family, my honor, and my all. I will love you as my son, 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 21 

and when we reach home I will show you proofs of my 
sincerity.” 

“Iam not asking, nor do I care for any further proof 
than is written upon your honest face. In it I can 
read patience, character, and good will to all men. 
These are all the proofs I want, Mr. Livingston.” 

“Thank you, Alden, for the confidence you have in 
me; it shall never be betrayed. Ah, there is the bell; 
let us have breakfast.” 

As we drew our chairs to the table the landlord, 
Mr. Little, introduced us to Pat Garrett, Sheriff of Grant 
County, who had received special instructions from 
the Governor of New Mexico to take the field in person 
against the organized band of outlaws, under the 
leadership of “Billie the Kid,” who at that time was 
overbold in committing crimes against the laws of 
God and man. No better man than Pat Garrett could 
be found in all New Mexico to undertake the task of 
ridding the country of such a lawless band. 

After breakfast was over, I left Mr. Livingston talk- 
ing with Pat Garrett on the veranda. Mr. Livingston 
was relating to him our adventures with the outlaws 
in the cave, and of the stage coach hold-up. Before 
he had finished his narrative I strolled down the street 
in search of a conveyance that would take us to Mr. 
Livingston’s ranch, which lay half way between Stein’s 
Pass and Lordsburg. About two blocks from the 
hotel I came across a little dilapidated shack constructed 
out of warped cotton-wood lumber. Over the door 
was a sign which told me that I had found what I had 


22 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


sought. After I had bargained for a team of horses 
and a spring wagon, I started back to the hotel and 
had retraced my steps about half a block when I was 
accosted by a man whom I took for a cowboy; at 
least his appearance denoted that he was a wild and 
woolly son of the plains. As I was about to pass him 
he addressed me: 

“Morning, pard! You’re a stranger in these parts, 
aint yer?” 

I admitted that I was. Then he said: 

“Don’t you know that this is a very unhealthy 
climate for such as you? I saw you and old man 
Livingston talking with Pat Garrett this morning, and 
I calculate, I had better warn the boys to look out for 
trouble, which is brewing. Take a good look at me, so 
the next time you see me you won’t forget me.” 

“If my recollections have not played me false, I 
have met you before.” 

“That you have, my boy, and pray that you may 
never meet me again.” 

“Look here, braggart, you and your two pardners, 
that assisted you to bind me and make me a prisoner 
in the lonely cabin, on the plains, are base cowards 
and I am not afraid of any man in your gang, who so 
cowardly shot down one lone messenger in the hold-up 
of yesterday.” 

“Hush, sonny, don’t let your temper run away with 
you. Go back to the hotel and give my regards to Pat 
Garrett and tell old man Livingston that we miss his 
company very much, and that the next time we will 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


23 

see that he does not sneak away from under our hos- 
pitable roof.” 

As he walked away he called back), “ Just tell them 
that you saw ‘BILLIE the KID Then he strode on. 

Could it be possible that “Billie the Kid” could walk 
the streets of Stein’s Pass and no one would attempt 
to capture him? He was without a doubt the coolest 
customer I had ever met. I started for the hotel, and 
upon reaching there I related my encounter with him, 
the most daring of outlaws. Mr. Livingston grew 
pale and looked with appealing eyes into the face of 
Pat Garrett, who only smiled as he picked up his rifle, 
and examined it, and as he was in the act of leaving he 
turned and said: 

“Stay here until I return.” 

In the look which Mr. Livingston gave Pat Garrett, 
I read volumes. There was a mystery of some sort 
connecting Mr. Livingston and “Billie the Kid.” And 
the more that I thought about it, the more fully con- 
vinced I was. 

I reviewed in my mind what had transpired in the lone 
cabin on the plains, and the escape from the under- 
ground caverns of the Piloncillo mountains. I was 
called back out of my reveries by the voice of Mr. 
Livingston calling me. 

“Alden, my boy, what are you thinking about? 
From your facial expressions there is something on 
your mind which should not be there.” 

“I was thinking of all that had taken place in the 
last few days. The cabin on the plains, the caverns 


24 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


in the mountain, the stage coach hold-up, the outlaws 
and their leader, ‘Billie the Kid.’ As you have not 
told me what caused you to be made a prisoner among 
this lawless band, I have been trying to solve the mys- 
tery by observation.” 

“You must not become impatient, for when we ar- 
rive at the ranch I will enlighten you.” 

As he had finished speaking Mr. Little took a seat 
beside me, (addressing), 

“Mr. Livingston, has it occurred to you, sir, that 
this is the time of the year when we have the Indian 
uprisings in this country? As I was coming past the 
telegraph office, I heard the operator tell one of Pat 
Garrett’s deputies that Geronimo, and his braves were 
on the war-path, and were now in the vicinity of Lords- 
burg, headed for the Piloncillo mountains.” 

“If this is the case, Mr. Little, they will pass through 
my place and stampede my cattle. I cannot wait for 
Garrett to return.” 

So we bade our host an adieu and went to the tele- 
graph office. The operator had just received a message 
addressed to Pat Garrett, Sheriff, Stein’s Pass: 

“I am advised that Geronimo is on the war- 
path and is headed for this place with a band of one 
hundred strong. Every man here armed. Have you 
any instructions for me? 

Harvey Whitehiil, Deputy. 

Lordsburg.” 


CHAPTER VI. 


Livingston’s Ranch, Near the Gila. 

B EFORE the operator had finished reading the 
telegram, Pat Garrett rode up and threw the 
reins of the horse he was riding to one of his 
men, and strode into the office. When he had finished 
reading the message the only remark he made was, 
“I hope the Government will soon find out that their 
pets, the Indians, are only to be trusted when they are 
dead. As I am going to Lordsburg, Mr. Livingston, 
I will go past your place, and I suggest that it would be 
safer for you there than to stay here. How many men 
have you?” 

“Twenty* Mr. Garrett.” 

Without anything more being said upon the subject, 
we secured our conveyance and soon were on the road 
to the ranch, accompanied by Pat Garrett and ten 
men all armed to the teeth. 

We drove about ten miles and at last drew up in 
front of a neat adobe cottage. This was known as the 
Livingston ranch. 

As Pat Garrett and his men rode off they waved 
their hands to us in a silent adieu, and we watched 
them until they passed over a hill in a cloud of dust 
about half of a mile further down the trail. 

The afternoon was waning when we arrived at the 
ranch. As we entered the house we were^accosted 


26 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


by a Mexican who when he saw Mr. Livingston, looked 
astonished and exclaimed: 

“Why, Mr. Livingston, we have been expecting you 
for the past week, and Jack went to Lordsburg every 
day, and is there now looking for you.” 

“Pedro, I have been on business in Stein’s Pass, 
and while there I learned that Geronimo is on the war- 
path, and in the neighborhood of Lordsburg. Get 
your pony, ride hard, and tell Fred to put all the cattle 
in the west paddock, also tell him to bring the boys 
with him, and come in as fast as possible.” 

Pedro hesitated as if he had something to say, but 
a look from Mr. Livingston unsealed his lips : 

“I forgot to tell you, sir, that your brother was here 
several times inquiring for you.” 

“My God!” exclaimed Mr. Livingston, “Some 
calamity is about to befall me! Francis Livingston here! 
This partly explains my capture by ‘Billie the Kid’, 
and our experience in the Piloncillo mountains.” 

Pedro had departed on his mission, and Mr. Living- 
ston turned to me: 

“No doubt, Alden, you are becoming deeply in- 
terested about the mystery that surrounds me, and 
now that we are alone, I will give you a detailed sketch 
of my life. But before I begin we must look to our arms. 
Here is a rifle and a pair of pistols for you. Take them 
and clean them up, for I expect there will be hot work 
for us to-night.” 

As we sat together cleaning our arms, he told me the 
history of his life : 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


27 


“My father was a Wall Street broker, and lived in 
New York. My mother was a Miss Mabel Goenlock of 
England, and my father met and wooed her there. They 
were married and for two short years lived in happi- 
ness. At my birth my mother died, and I never knew 
a mother’s loving care. For almost twenty years my 
father never looked upon the face of another woman, 
and I was his sole companion. When I reached man- 
hood, after finishing my education, my father sent me 
to Chicago, to enter into a banking institution, with 
which he was indirectly connected. I was installed 
in my new position about one year, when I received a 
telegram to hasten to New York, where my father met 
me at the station. He was so changed since I had 
left him a short year before. As he took me by the hand 
he addressed me: ‘Patrick, my son, I am glad to see 
you, and your home coming has made me happy. I 
have a surprise in store for you.’ 

“As we drove through the busy streets I pondered 
long over his words and actions. He seemed so young 
and gay. What had come over him, my father, who 
was always so grave? When we reached home and 
had entered the brilliantly lighted parlor the surprise 
that was in store for me was clear in an instant when 
he presented me to a tall, dark and beautiful woman 
as his wife, my new mother. Standing by her side 
was a dark handsome boy of sixteen. From the first 
glance I took at them, I became suspicious, and a 
great dislike for them entered into my soul. 


28 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


“Why was my father so blind ? Why had he forgotten 
my saintly mother, and taken this woman into his heart 
to efface the image of her, his first love, and the mother 
of his child? When opportunity occurred I took him 
to task for this outrage. He only smiled and said, 
‘It is true and only right that you should feel ani- 
mosity towards my wife and her son, whom you think 
have taken the place of your mother and yourself, but 
they cannot interfere with my love for you. You are 
my son, my flesh and blood, and I will not quarrel with 
you, so let us be friends.’ 

“I said no more to him on this subject, but left for 
Chicago the next day. I loved my father dearly, and 
if he found happiness in becoming the husband of this 
woman and the foster-father of her child, I would not 
interfere with him. If he had forgotten her, my mother, 
I would not. Had she not given her life that I might 
live ? and her sweet memory would ever live in my heart. 
I went back to my desk and by economy saved a small 
fortune. My father was pleased at my progress and 
he bought out the business, placing me at the head, 
and making his step-son my assistant. He was a very 
smart young man, and his kind and considerate actions 
towards me, completely won me and I grew to like him 
and had dispelled the dark suspicions that had once en- 
tered my mind. Our business prospered, and fortune 
smiled upon us. Without warning, a cloud darkened 
our horizon, for Francis Livingston was in serious 
difficulties and was compelled to flee from the United 
States. He took his share out of the business which 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


29 


my father had given him, and left for parts unknown. 
On several occasions I honored forged checks drawn 
by him, just for my father’s sake. While he was absent 
my father died leaving to his wife half of all of his 
possessions; the other half he bequeathed to me. 
This was too much for Francis Livingston, and he 
became my enemy, and his demands became unbear- 
able. When I would not give him another penny he 
became furious, and I received a visit from him, and 
we parted in anger. From time to time I heard of his 
disgraceful actions, and of his threats against me and 
my family. It is at least ten years since I have set 
eyes upon him, and I am thoroughly convinced that it 
was by his orders that I was made prisoner by ‘Billie 
the Kid.’ 

“This ranch I purchased some five years ago, and I 
come here every year accompanied by my wife and 
daughter, for the benefit of my health, returning in 
the autumn to my home in Chicago. I should have 
reached here about a week ago but as the train stopped 
at Lisbon, a party of armed men boarded the car I was 
in and took me prisoner. For what reason I cannot 
say, but I think Francis Livingston was at the bottom 
of it.” 

Here he was interrupted by the echoing hoof beats 
of a galloping horse, and upon looking out of the door 
we espied a fine looking man coming at a swinging 
pace towards the house. When he reached the door 
he vaulted out of his saddle, threw the reins upon the 
ground and strode into the house. A look of surprise 


30 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


flitted over his honest countenance. He extended his 
hand to Mr. Livingston. 

“ Where did you come from? I’ve haunted the sta- 
tion at Lordsburg for the last seven days, and could 
not either see or hear of you.” 

Mr. Livingston shook the proffered hand and said, 

“Glad to see you, Jack; this is my friend, Mr. Ray- 
mond.” 

He took my hand and gave it a hearty squeeze. 
“Glad to know you, sir.” 

I liked the big fellow for he was so manly. Turn- 
ing, he said, “By the way, Mr. Livingston, I have a 
telegram for you which I received to-day.” 

Mr. Livingston took it and read : “ Meet me at 
Lordsburg, ten A. M. train, tomorrow.” 

“My God r Jack, this is awful! My wife and child 
coming and these Indian uprisings at white heat. 
What shall I do? Alden, can you not suggest some- 
thing?” 

Before I could reply all of the men belonging to the 
ranch rode up and swarmed into the house. They were 
an honest looking lot of men and loved their master. 
When they had finished their handshaking with him 
he called out: 

“Boys,” and they were all attention, “let me in- 
troduce to you my friend, Mr. Raymond, your new 
foreman.” They all shook me by the hand and seemed 
pleased to see me. 

“No doubt, boys, you have all heard about Geronimo, 
being on the war-path. You all know what it means, 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


3i 


so secure your arms at once^ and when the time comes 
give a good account of yourselves. Fred,, how are the 
cattle ? ” 

“They are all quiet, Mr. Livingston.” 

Some of the men left the room, but soon returned 
with their arms. When every man was armed, and 
supplied with ammunition, they sat down to await in- 
structions. Then Mr. Livingston addressed them: 

“Listen attentively to what Mr. Raymond has to say. 
His instructions must be lived up to the letter.” 

They were all attention, as I unfolded to them my 
plan of action. When I had finished I bade Jack and 
Pete to ride around the cattle,, while Bill watched the 
trail leading from Lordsburg, and Charlie the one which 
led to Stein’s Pass. 

“As a sign of danger fire your rifles, and we will come 
to your assistance,” I added. “The rest of you can 
go to bed.” 

When I was alone with Mr. Livingston he asked 
me how I intended to act the next day relative to his 
family. I assured him not to be uneasy, as his 
family would be safely united with him; and he retired, 
feeling confident that I was equal to the occasion. 


CHAPTER VII. 


Pursued by Geronimo. 

I SAT long into the night considering the plan I 
would pursue on the morrow. I reviewed 
every item in my mind and at last had formed a plan 
which, if carried out properly, would give us 
advantage over the Indians. When I had satisfied 
myself upon all technical points I went to bed, but I 
could not sleep; for the excitement of the last few days, 
and what was soon to come, robbed me of all desire 
to sleep. I rolled and tossed upon the bed until the 
first streaks of dawn announced the birth of another 
day. As the sun appeared over the distant hilltops 
I had left all boyhood fancies behind me, and stepped 
forth a man to fight the good fight against overwhelming 
odds. 

After breakfast was over all of the boys had gathered 
together in the yard in front of the house. I issued the 
necessary instructions and put part of them to digging 
a small ditch about three hundred feet long, which 
would run into a ravine back of the stables. 

After I had finished giving them instructions, Jack, 
Pedro, and I mounted our ponies and started to Lords- 
burg to escort Mrs. Livingston and her child back to 
the ranch. 

We reached the town about an hour before the train 
was due, and while Jack was in search of a vehicle for 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


33 


the comfort of our guests, Pedro and I went to the sta- 
tion, there to await the arrival of Mrs. Livingston and 
her daughter. 

The town was full of armed men and excitement was 
running high. Nothing was talked about but the 
Indians. 

The last report we had of them was that they were 
camped about three miles north of Lordsburg. A strong 
guard was placed north of the town, and scouts sent 
out from time to time to report their movements. In 
the distance we could hear the rumbling of an incom- 
ing train, which soon appeared and gliding gracefully, 
stopped in front of the little depot. 

The first person to alight from the train was the con- 
ductor, who was greatly excited ; coming towards me he 
said, “Are you an officer?” 

I replied, I was not, but that I was at his service 
at present and would assist him all I couid. 

He looked at me carefully for an instant and then 
exclaimed : 

“Tell Pat Garrett that Geronimo is on the march 
and we passed him not more than a mile from here.” 

This was enough for me, and I called Pedro and bade 
him go at once and not to stop until he found Pat 
Garrett. 

“Tell him that Geronimo is not more than a mile 
from here, then meet us at the Red Butts. Notify 
every man in town if necessary. Now, go!” 

He was off like an arrow, and as I turned to look for 
Jack I saw him approaching with a very beautiful 


34 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


little girl about five years of age, and a stylishly dressed 
woman. They came smiling towards me, and Mrs. 
Livingston held out her hand to me. As I gazed into 
the beautiful eyes, and looked into the innocent face of 
the little child my heart went out to them. After we 
had comfortably seated them in the conveyance, , we 
started for the ranch. Jack took a position on one side 
of the vehicle, and I rode on the other. We reached 
the Red Butts, but Pedro was nowhere visible. Acting 
on Jack’s advice we pushed on and had descended into 
a valley, through the center of which ran a small stream, 
and here we tarried for a few minutes, and allowed 
our horses to quench their thirst, as the day was hot 
and the trail was very dusty. The trail lay through the 
valley for half a mile, and as we came out upon the 
open plain opposite to where we had entered, I turned 
in my saddle, and from where I was sitting, scanned 
over the trail behind us. As my eyes rested upon the 
lone butts, where we agreed to meet Pedro, I noticed 
a horseman coming at full speed. Our horses were in 
a gallop and I became oblivious of my surroundings, 
so intently was I watching the lone horseman who 
was bringing up our rear. Why he was riding so fast, 
on such a hot day, I could not conjecture. He was 
gaining upon us and had disappeared in the valley but 
only for an instant ; as he came into sight out of the val- 
ley I noticed a cloud of dust behind the Red Butts, 
which grew larger and larger. Why was this, and 
what could it mean? I had no time to reflect for the 
lone horseman, who was in plain view, was Pedro ; the 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


35 


white flakes of foam were flying from the flanks of his 
pony, and when he had come within hailing distance he 
cried out: 

“ Geronimo !” 

Jack heard his warning cry, as also did the driver 
who whipped his horses into a run. The cloud of dust 
behind turned into a galloping wiggling mass of redskins, 
mounted on ponies. Mrs. Livingston looked calmly into 
my face with an inquiring glance, which I interpreted 
as, “ Why such haste?” 

Poor woman and beautiful child, little did they ever 
dream of the danger that was about to overtake them. 
We were nearly five miles from our destination and it 
was a race of life or death for us, and if we could keep 
up the pace we were going we would soon be safely 
housed at the ranch. But luck was against us, for one 
of the horses hitched to the vehicle stepped into a 
gopher hole and fell heavily upon the ground, breaking 
its neck. There was not a moment to lose, as the 
Indians were in plain view. I picked up the child 
and placed her before me in my saddle, Jack assisted 
Mrs. Livingston to mount behind him and the driver 
unhitched the remaining horse and we started. The 
time we had lost by the accident caused the Indians 
to have a chance to gain upon us. On we rode as fast 
as our overburdened horses could carry us. All the 
time the Indians were rapidly gaining upon us. The 
gait we were going was telling upon our horses. Would 
they last until we reached the ranch? Jack’s horse 
was fast failing and began to reel under its load. 


36 


DOWN AT STEIN'S PASS. 


Handing the reins to Mrs. Livingston he jumped out 
of the saddle and vaulted up behind the driver. 

We were on the last mile. Would we ever reach the 
ranch in safety? We could see the buildings plainly 
in the distance? On, on, we went. Jack’s horse 
took a new lease of life, since his burden was reduced, 
and was some lengths in the lead. My pony began to 
lag and show weariness. The pace was telling on 
him, but Rocket knew that something unusual w r as 
expected of him that day, and he did not falter as we 
galloped up to the house. The Indians were not more 
than half a mile behind us. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

The Murder of the Livingstons. 

T RODE Rocket into the house, and on every side 
I could see the boys all in position with their 
rifle barrels protruding through chinks in the 
walls. I deposited my precious burden in the arms of 
her father and took a look down the trail. There was 
not a moment to lose. The Indians were fast approach- 
ing. When they were within five hundred yards of the 
house, twenty rifles spoke and as many redskins bit 
the dust. They commenced to retreat down the trail, 
and for a short time silence reigned supreme. We 
kept a sharp lookout and noticed in the distance some 
smoke signals. These we could not interpret. The 
house with barricaded doors and windows had now 
become unbearable and close, and with a sense of se- 
curity at the retreat of the Indians the boys became 
careless, and left their posts, and Mr. Livingston threw 
the doors wide open. The fresh air rushed in as a 
welcome refreshing guest to relieve us from terror and 
suffocation. 

Little Beatrice was sitting in her mother’s lap with 
her eyes wide open in astonishment. She looked up 
into my face and said: 

“ You won’t let those bad men hurt us, will you, Mr. 
Alden?” 

I took her in my arms and assured her that all of the 


38 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


boys would die before harm should come to her. Mrs. 
Livingston gazed into the face of her husband. Laying 
her hand gently upon his arm, she exclaimed : 

“Patrick, I have a presentiment that all will not go 
well with us to-day. If anything should happen to 
us is there anyone whom you can trust?” 

“ My dear Beatrice, my wife, every man here would 
die for us. I have the utmost confidence in every one 
of them, but I especially trust Alden Raymond.” 

Mrs. Livingston took my hand. “Swear, Mr. Ray- 
mond, promise me as you love your mother, that no 
matter what happens to us you will save my child, my 
little Beatrice.” 

“Mrs. Livingston, I swear to you in the presence of 
the Almighty Creator of the universe, that as long as I 
have a drop of blood left in my veins, or a breath of 
life in my body, I will use it in her behalf, and save her 
if it is in my power.” 

As I finished speaking, Livingston placed a package 
of papers in my hand. 

“Alden, my boy, take care of them, and if I should 
die never leave them out of your sight.” 

I took the papers and carefully concealed them in 
my bosom. Little Beatrice threw her arms around 
my neck and whispered in my ear : 

“Please, Mr. Alden, get me some water, as I am so 
thirsty.” 

I carried her through the house in search of water, 
but we could not find any. Poor little girl, she tried 
to be brave and talk, but her heart grew big, her 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


39 


parched throat and swollen tongue lay as a mute on 
every sound of voice and she burst into sobs‘, and began 
to cry. This touched our hearts, and as I was looking 
out upon the trail, watching the movements of the 
Indians, one of the boys picked up a tin pail and started 
for a spring, which was partly hidden from view by a 
small clump of mesquite bushes, situated in a narrow 
ravine back of the stable. He had gone forth on his 
way to the spring and was returning with the water 
when a report from a rifle disturbed the stillness, and 
he was seen to stagger and fall within thirty feet of the 
house. This was witnessed by Mrs. Livingston, who 
uttered a scream and fell forward in a swoon, into the 
arms of her husband. To reach the bucket which con- 
tained the water was our only ambition. The mother 
in a dead faint and her little child pleading piteously 
for water, was more than we could bear. There was 
more than one pair of eyes filled with tears, and three 
or four of the boys left their posts to secure the water, 
which was so near at hand. Just as one of the boys 
stepped over the threshold, a rifle rang out, then 
another and another; he fell riddled with bullets. 

I looked out of a chink in the wall and for the first 
time I realized that the Indians had stolen a march on 
us, and removed the dead bodies of their comrades* and 
had replaced them with live ones. I called some of 
the boys and we fired volley after volley into them. The 
fire had become too hot for them and they scampered 
off leaving half of their number dead behind them. 

While we were keeping the Indians back with our 


40 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


fire, Pedro secured the bucket of water and he and Mr. 
Livingston were trying to revive Mrs. Livingston who 
was slowly showing signs of life. 

Little Beatrice was now happy and sat by her 
mother’s side and held her eyes wide open in astonish- 
ment. All of the boys were on the lookout and as every- 
thing was quiet I called Jack to one side and talked 
over the situation with him. It was growing late in 
the afternoon and as soon as darkness settled over us 
without a doubt the Indians, under cover of night, would 
surround us, and, with blazing arrows hurled into the 
thatched roof, burn us out of our stronghold. 

Nothing more was seen of the Indians, although we 
kept a continual watch on all sides. We had decided 
that Jack should take all of the men at an opportune 
time and give battle to the Indians. Then Mr. Liv- 
ingston, his wife and myself, and the little Beatrice 
would take the three horses that were in the house and 
escape through the ravine and try to reach Stein’s Pass. 
If we failed we would double back to Lordsburg. 
While we were perfecting our plans no one noticed the 
absence of little Beatrice. Without a word of warn- 
ing Mrs. Livingston sped out of the door and was run- 
ning after the child who was gaily swinging the pail on 
her arm, on the way to the spring to get water. A 
savage rifle spoke and Mrs. Livingston clapped her 
hand to her breast and fell over without a cry, with a 
bullet in her heart. The sight was more than Mr. 
Livingston could bear, for he had suddenly lost his 
reason and judgment. Taking up his rifle he sped out 


DOWN AT STIEN’S PASS. 


4i 


of the house to avenge the death of his faithful spouse. 

He had reached her side and was in the act of bend- 
ing over her when an unseen foe shot him and he fell 
over the body of his wife. He cried out, “For God’s 
sake, Alden, save my child.” 

I unwound my lariat from off Rocket’s saddle, and 
sprang through a window into the ditch the boys had 
dug, which was about three and a half feet deep. 
I crawled upon my hands and knees, until I reached a 
point opposite where the child stood. I prepared my 
lariat, stood up for an instant, threw it and fell flat 
into the ditch; before I reached the bottom a rifle was 
heard to speak and I felt a burning pain which seemed 
to penetrate my shoulder. I drew my rope into the 
ditch and with it came little Beatrice. A great number 
of shots were fired from the house, and during the brief 
time I was in the ditch, Jack had sighted the Indian 
who had killed Mr. Livingston and his wife, and had 
sent him to the happy hunting grounds, just as he was 
in the act of shooting me. I took little Beatrice, and 
together we crawled through the ditch and entered the 
house in safety. 


CHAPTER IX. 


A Ride for Life. 

T HE time for Jack to go forth and give battle to 
the Indians had arrived. Calling all of the boys 
together he related to them his plan of action. After 
they had all shaken hands with me, and bid little 
Beatrice good-bye Jack jumped through a window into 
the ditch, and his example was followed by every man 
excepting Pedro and myself. Pedro watched the 
Indians down the trail to give warning to the boys in 
the ditch. When the boys were out of sight in the 
stable , securing their horses I opened the door, turned 
Rocket and the other horses out of the house, and as 
they were very thirsty they did not stop until they had 
reached the spring. When I was ready I sprang 
through the window into the ditch and Pedro handed 
me the child. Following us he kept a sharp lookout 
behind. The Apaches did not know that the house 
was deserted until Jack and his men rushed out of the 
stables with their horses. This was the signal forme 
to mount; the boys surrounded me and did good work 
against the redskins. We were widening the distance 
between them and us until we struck the trail which 
led to Lordsburg. Here we were compelled to double 
back on the trail and we lost considerable time in do- 
ing so. 

The Indians were fast gaining upon us and they were 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


43 


about half a mile behind. We kept bravely on, and 
when the bullets rained thick and fast around us, the 
boys stopped and every time their rifles spoke an 
Apache fell, never to rise again. Three or four times 
I thought that a piece of hot iron had entered my flesh, 
but I did not know that I was wounded until a tiny 
stream of blood came trickling down the side of my 
face coming from a wound near my right temple. The 
blood fell upon little Beatrice’s hand and she cried out, 
“Oh, 'Mr. Alden, you are hurt.” I did not answer her 
but wiped the blood from off her hand and gathered 
her more closely in front of me. As we rounded the 
Red Butts I looked behind me and Jack and his men 
were holding the red devils at bay, but with all of 
their vigilance, two or three Indians had managed to 
get by and were hot upon my trail. On they came like 
a whirlwind. Poor faithful Rocket was fast weakening 
for the speed was too fast and the burden too great for 
him. Two long miles stretched before us to Lords- 
burg. Would we reach there, or must we fall 
when we were almost on the threshold of safety ? 

Again the bullets began to whiz around us. The 
buzz of one whistled what, to my excited imagination, 
sounded like the first sweet note of “Home Sweet 
Home,” and it brought back to me loving remem- 
brances of home and mother. Another as it sped 
onward, seemed to sing out “Comrades, Comrades,” 
and I thought of my boyhood playmates in my far- 
away home, and still another as it whistled through the 
air seemed to murmur, “Nearer my God to Thee.” 


44 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


Was God about to call me? flashed through my mind. 
Was I about to die after all the brave fight I had made? 
No, God had willed it otherwise. For as faithful 
Rocket was about to give up the race he had almost 
won, a large number of men glided up the trail as if 
they were spirits. At their head rode Pat Garrett, 
and we were saved. I became sick and faint. The 
excitement was too much for me. Before I swooned 
away I managed to tell them about Jack and the 
Indians fighting about two miles back. I would have 
fallen from my horse but a strong arm was placed 
around me and when I awoke I was lying in bed in 
a strange room. Bending over me was a sweet faced 
woman, who upon seeing me open my eyes, exclaimed : 

“I see that you are better.” 

“Madam, have I been ill?” 

“Yes, sir; very ill. Your life was despaired of.” 

“Where am I?” 

“At the Ormsby House in Lordsburg.” 

“How long have I been here?” 

“Two weeks last Monday.” 

“What day is this?” 

“Thursday.” 

“You said that I was ill. What caused it?” 

“Your illness was caused by bullet wounds.” 

“How did I get wounded?” 

“Go to sleep now, for I will not answer another 
question.” 

So I had to be contented with what information she 
had given me. I had found out that my head was 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


45 


bandaged, one of my arms tied up in a sling, and as 
she turned away, I lay there with closed eyes, too faint 
to keep them open. My memory was a blank. All 
I could remember was lying down beside the packs 
after I had removed them from the burros’ backs, in 
the shade of the shelve rock, at the base of the hills, 
there to wait until the engineers would come and par- 
take of their noon-day meal. I tried to recall some in- 
cident that occurred after that time, but my efforts 
were in vain. I could not find the thread that would 
unravel the mystery that shrouded my life. 

How long I had pondered upon this subject before 
I fell asleep I cannot tell. When I awoke the sun 
was shining brightly through my window, and there 
was no one in the room that I might ask questions of, 
so I mustered courage, arose and started to dress 
myself, and it was with a great deal of painful effort 
that I accomplished the task. Many thoughts had 
flitted across my mind, but none of them seemed to 
throw any light on the past two weeks, so I resolved 
to start at once and solve the mystery that surrounded 
me and made that short period of my life a blank. I 
found my way to the hall and followed it until I came 
to the stairs. As I descended them I realized for the 
first time how weak I was, and with a great amount of 
difficulty I reached the office, which was empty. I 
passed through it and out onto the veranda, and as I 
seated myself a man whom I took to be the proprietor 
of the hotel looked up from his paper and gazed at me 
over his glasses in surprise. 


46 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


“Why, Mr. Raymond, are you mad? The doctor 
who is attending you said that you could not leave 
your bed for at least a week yet. You had better re- 
turn to your bed at once, and use some judgment.” 

“Hang you and the doctor. I am not going back 
to that stuffy old room, not if I know myself. I feel 
better when I am up. Won’t you please tell me how 
I came to Lordsburg? I never was here before in my 
life. I don’t understand. There is some mystery, 
for my mind is blank. Are you the proprietor?” 

“Yes; don’t you know me, Raymond?” 

“No,” I replied, “I cannot say that I have ever had 
the pleasure of meeting you before.” 

“ My name is Little. You stopped with me in Stein’s 
Pass, about a month ago, and came with Mr. Living- 
ton on the stage that was robbed down on Apache 
creek. I own both of the hotels, this one, and the one 
in Stein’s Pass.” 

“Mr. Little, there you are mistaken. I never was 
in a stage coach hold-up, and to the best of my knowl- 
edge I have never been in the town you call Stein’s 
Pass.” 

“I see,” replied Mr. Little, “that you are hopelessly 
out of your head, and I will not argue with you. I will 
send for Pat Garrett and see if he can bring you back 
to your senses, and call you back from your wander- 
ings.” 

I said no more but sat thinking that this man was, 
must be demented. I could not remember any one in 
my acquaintance by the name of Livingston, and what 


47 


DOWN AT STIEN’S "PASS. 

had this man Pat Garrett to do with me, or the blank 
space that had come into my life. My reveries were 
disturbed at last when Mr. Little touched me on the 
shoulder and as I looked up I noticed that he was not 
alone. With him were two men. One I took to be 
a doctor, who came forward and felt my pulse, looking 
very grave. But he remarked, “ Getting along fine, a 
vast improvement to-day.” 

He asked me how long I had been up and I told him 
about an hour. 

“You will be your own judge in this matter, stay 
up until you feel tired, then go to bed. You are get 
ting along very nicely.” 

With these words he walked away. His companion 
came forward and took me by the hand, and after he 
had given it a hearty shake, exclaimed: 

“ My boy, you have a wonderful constitution. You have 
been to death’s door more than once in the past few 
weeks; but I guess that your time to cash in has not 
arrived.” 

As he took a seat near me I looked into his face and 
thought that another lunatic had broken out. 

“What is your name?” I asked him. “I have no 
recollection of any former acquaintance with you.” 

“Just listen to that, will you, Little. Good Lord, 
but the boy is out of his head, good and plenty. I am 
Pat Garrett, Sheriff of Grant County, and we first met 
in Stein’s Pass.” 

I was now becoming bewildered at what I had just 
heard. We talked for an hour about the Indians, of 


48 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


the raid on the Livingston Ranch; how I had saved 
little Beatrice, and about everything of any import- 
ance, that would have a tendency to revive my memory 
and clear up the blank space that had come into my 
life.' His efforts were all in vain. I could not remem- 
ber anything at all about the raid on the Livingston 
Ranch, nor of the saving of the little girl Beatrice from 
the Indians. 


CHAPTER X. 


Back Among the Old Folks. 

A MONTH had elapsed before I was completely 
restored to health, and a longing came over 
me to see my old home, my parents, and the friends 
of my childhood once more. There was nothing to 
detain me in Lordsburg, so I boarded a train for the 
East, and I reached Boston without notifying my family 
of my arrival. 

When I passed out of the station I noticed the many 
•hanges that had taken place during my absence. I 
took a carriage and drove home. On my way there 
my heart beat for joy as I recognized the old familiar 
places, and here and there I met a face of some old 
friend of bygone days. When I alighted from the cab 
I turned and gazed at the home of my childhood. 
Would my mother meet me at the door as in the days 
of yore? Would I see the kindly face of my father 
as he welcomed me home? And my sister, what of 
her? As I stood gazing there at the home of my 
youth, fond memories were awakened within me. 
The joys and sorrows which had passed over my life 
in my absence from home were now at an end. I 
hesitated no longer; with a bound I was upon the 
veranda and in an instant I had the door open and was 


5 ° 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


in the hall. My progress was interrupted by a man 
who stepped in front of me, bowing low; he was evi- 
dently a servant. 

“Whom do you wish to see?” he inquired. 

His manner puzzled me. I replied that I wished 
to see my parents. 

“Your parents? Young man, what are you driving 
at? Your parents do not reside here.” 

“Isn’t this where Mr. Raymond lives?” 

“No, sir; this is the home of Francis Livingston.” 

That name ! Great God, where had I heard that name 
before? My memory was coming back to me. The 
dark space in my life was soon to fade away and in its 
stead came back pictures of the past. 

The servant was eyeing me closely, and he broke the 
silence by telling me that his master was out of the city, 
and that I would have to call again if I wished to see 
him. Before I retired from the house I asked him if 
he knew Mr. Raymond, and where he lived. But he 
could not give me the information I desired. I opened 
the door and reeled out like an intoxicated man, my mind 
in a turmoil of confusion. As I staggered along the 
street the name of Livingston haunted me like a night- 
mare, and the thought of the abode of my parents, the 
home of my childhood now in his possession, and occu- 
pied by a stranger, was more than I could bear. 
Tears streamed down my cheeks, as I took a last look 
at the home which was mine no longer. 

I started on not caring where my steps might lead 
me, and as people passed me I could see a nose, a mouth 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


51 


an eye and ear, or some other mark which reminded 
me of some of my dear friends of boyhood days; and 
as I noticed these features which were associated with 
children now grown to man and womanhood, it re- 
minded me that I was no longer the lad of those halcyon 
days. I wandered on, busily engaged with my thoughts. 
Many questions I revolved in my mind, but try as I 
would I could not solve them, so they remained un- 
answered. I had made up my mind to seek out some 
of my old friends and find out what had become of my 
parents, and my family. I was suddenly brought back 
to earth by some one clapping his hand upon my 
shoulder, as a cheery voice greeted my ear: 

“Alden, old fellow, I am glad to see you! Where 
did you drop from?” and there before me stood George 
Bassett, one of my old school companions. I was 
exceedingly pleased to see him. This was putting it 
mildly. What good angel had sent him across my 
path? 

“George, can you tell me anything of my parents?” 

“Nothing, only that they sold out some time ago and 
moved out West, to Colorado, I think, I am not positive; 
but come into the house, and I am sure that Rose can 
tell you something of them.” 

“ Rose who — what — ? I stammered. 

“Why, Rose Dugan, of course. We were married 
about a month after you left.” 

“George, you’re a sly rogue, and I wish you every 
happiness, even at this late hour.” 

Together we went into the house, and as we stepped 


52 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


over the threshold Rose came to meet us, with & smile 
upon her face. She was glad to see me for, in bygone 
days she and I were sweethearts, and it gave me great 
pleasure to be with these people who had always been 
my friends and I felt enchanted when they insisted 
upon my becoming their guest during my stay in 
Boston. After the evening meal w T as over, Rose gave 
me all the information she possessed relative to my 
family. She told me that they had moved to Trinidad, 
Colorado. This was all that I cared to know; the next 
morning after bidding my friends good-bye, I boarded a 
train for Trinidad. 


CHAPTER XI. 


After Darkness Came Light. 

M ANY were the thoughts that crowded into my 
mind as I took a seat in the train which would take 
me to the new home of my parents. I gazed out of the 
car window as we moved swiftly out and in through 
numberless cars and trains which seemed to cross our 
path, and as we dashed out of the yards into the open 
country, the conductor passed through collecting 
tickets. When he had quitted the car I occupied, I 
became interested in a conversation which was carried 
on by two men, who sat in front of me. I will not make 
an apology for listening to them. This is how they 
began : 

“Well, Jim, where’re you bound for?” 

“Me? I’m on my way to New Mexico.” 

“The deuce you are! If I may ask, what is it that 
takes you to that country this time of the year, when 
the Indians are raising h — in general. I’m afraid, 
old man, that you will come back with your topknot 
missing.” 

The one addressed as Jim did not pay much attention 
to the other’s remark, but continued: 

“Well, you see, it’s like this: I have a client whose 
brother, sister-in-law and niece were killed in an Indian 
raid a short time ago, and I’m going there to settle up 
the estate. The sheriff of the county where the estate 


54 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


is located is giving us some unnecessary trouble about 
papers left by the deceased man, and it is my intention 
to secure them before I return.” 

“I hope, Jim that you will be successful, and that 
you will settle everything satisfactorily to all con- 
cerned. Pleasant journey to you.” With these words 
he quitted the car. 

I was turning over and over again in my mind the 
conversation which I had overheard. The more I 
thought about it the more fully convinced I was that 
it had something to do with the vacuum which had 
come into my life. Would a light ever appear to illumi- 
nate the darkness and bring back to my memory 
vividly the obscure visions of the past ? I leaned over 
the back of the seat ahead of me and spoke to the man 
going to New Mexico. 

“My friend,” I began, “I hope you will pardon my 
intrusion. Did I understand that you were on your 
way to New Mexico? I am on my way to Trinidad, 
Colorado, and as our route lies in the same direction, 
if you do not object we can travel together.” 

“No objection at all; glad to have your company. 
Your name, sir?” 

“Raymond,” I replied. 

“Glad to meet you, Mr. Raymond; my name is 
Clements, of the firm of Clements and Bassett, At- 
torneys and Counselors at Law, and I am going to New 
Mexico to settle up an estate. By the way, Mr. Ray- 
mond, I am looking for a man of your name, Alden 
Raymond ; he seems to have a great deal to do with the 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


5S 

settling up of the affair I now have in hand, as I under- 
stand it was he who saved the little girl called Beatrice, 
from death at the hands of the Indians, after they had 
slain her parents. This Alden Raymond was en- 
trusted with some important papers given him by the 
deceased Patrick Livingston, just prior to his death. 

The blank space had gone from out of my mind, and 
the scales had dropped from my eyes, and I could 
see again. AFTER DARKNESS CAME LIGHT. 
The lone cabin on the plains, the prisoner, Patrick 
Livingston, the robbers’ cave, the hold-up of the stage, 
the raid at the Livingston Ranch, and the race for life — all 
loomed up before my vision. I had almost forgotten the 
existence of my fellow- traveler, but as he was busily en- 
gaged in scanning same voluminous legal documents, 
he did not seem to notice the reverie I had fallen into. 

We rode along in silence for some time, each busy with 
his own thoughts. My reception in my old home 
came back to me. How was it that Francis Livingston 
had become master of the home of my parents, the 
home of my childhood ? Why had my parents moved 
to Colorado ? There is one mystery that I must ferret 
out, but I must now leave it in abeyance, until I can 
reach Trinidad. My mind became centered upon the 
missing papers connected with the Livingston case. 
What had become of them ? I remember very distinctly 
that I had placed them in the bosom of my shirt, well 
folded as I had left them before, and knew they were 
safe at the time I was about to lose consciousness in 
my race for life, when Pat Garrett came to our rescue. 


56 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


What had become of the papers ? I must secure them 
and turn them over to the person they were intended 
for. From what I could gather from Mr. Clements’ 
remark about the sheriff giving them trouble, I became 
fully convinced that the sheriff in question was no 
other than my friend, Pat Garrett, and if the missing 
papers were now in his possession he would give them 
to no one but me. If such was the case the papers 
were perfectly safe in his hands until I called for them. 
I had made up my mind to say nothing to my com- 
panion that would convey to him any idea of how much 
I knew of the Livingston case and the missing papers 
he so eagerly sought. During the time we were to- 
gether I learned a few things which would materially 
assist me in the task I had undertaken. I found in 
Mr. Clements a shrewd, sensible man, and I regretted 
very much that I was in conscience bound to oppose 
him in his case of Francis Livingston. My cause was 
one of justice and I would fulfill my promise to the 
Livingstons, to protect little Beatrice, even at the cost 
of my last drop of blood. When we reached Trinidad 
I invited Mr. Clements to accompany me in my search 
for my parents. He accepted my invitation and proved 
himself a pleasant and valuable companion to me. 
After placing our grips safely in our room and partaking 
of a hearty supper we went out on the veranda, there 
to talk over the plans we were to pursue. We decided 
to arise early next morning and start out to locate 
my parents, if possible. If successful in our quest I was 
to accompany him to New Mexico. We retired, and 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


57 


early next morning, before setting out, we went to in- 
quire of the postmaster if he knew of such a family. 
He had noticed the name on papers and letters among 
the mail, but they had moved away without leaving 
any address behind them. We had expected a more 
encouraging answer, but not in the least disheartened 
we started forth and made a house to house search of 
all the business concerns, not meeting, however, with 
better success. We found one merchant who knew 
my father, but he could give us no information con- 
cerning his present place of abode. There was noth- 
ing to keep me in Trinidad, so I decided to continue 
the journey to New Mexico with Mr. Clements. There 
was something of a mystery in my parents’ ways of 
doing. Why did they leave Trinidad without 
giving the postmaster instructions relative to for- 
warding their mail ? No one seemed to know anything 
about their present whereabouts. Where could they 
be? My only hope of ever finding them lay in the 
advice I would receive from Pat Garrett Nothing 
either of interest or importance occurred from the 
time we left Trinidad to the time we were steaming out 
of Rincon. At this last point a cowboy stepped into 
the car we occupied and called out: “Is Mr. Clements 
in this car?” My companion beckoned him to where 
we sat, and I would rather have been anywhere else, 
as I recognized in the cowboy the features of “Billie the 
Kid.” On reaching our seat he exclaimed: “If you 
are Mr. Clements, tell Mr. Livingston that I have 
hunted high and low, but cannot find hide or hair of 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


58 

that fellow Raymond. Just tell him Bill thinks that 
Pat Garrett knows all about where Raymond and those 
papers are.” 

What a strange utterance! Mr. Livingston! Ray- 
mond! Pat Garrett! Papers! An indescribable feel- 
ing of consolation and satisfaction came over me. A 
deep sigh of relief and comfort sprang up from the 
very fountains of my heart as I saw Mr. Clements’ 
interlocutor shut the door behind him and step off 
the car. No more blank now. No more darkness in 
that past eventful period of my life. An irresistible 
feeling of gratitude rose from my heart and my lips 
murmured a prayer of thanksgiving to that kind Provi- 
dence, who always brings order out of chaos. For 
to the chaos in my mind, in my heart, in my memory, 
succeeded order of thought, order of recollections, 
order of affections. My loving father and mother, 
my home and the friends of my childhood, the perilous 
chase of the Indians, the handsome Mrs. Livingston, 
the beautiful little Beatrice, for whom I felt especial 
tenderness, all rose before my mental eye like a check- 
ered panorama, dismal at spots, but interesting and 
charming as a whole. Such refreshment after a life of 
fitful storms and fevers can only come from the great 
Father^who is serenity itself. My only thought and 
desire now was to obtain justice in all things for little 
Beatrice Livingston. 


CHAPTER XII. 


The Missing Papers. 

W HEN we reached Lordsburg, Mr. Clements and 
I took quarters at the Ormsby House, and Mr. 
Little, the landlord, was more than pleased to 
see me. Upon inquiring for Pat Garrett, to my dis- 
appointment I found that he was engaged at Silver 
City at court, as it was then in session. As the last 
train for Silver City had departed, there was nothing 
left for me to do but to wait until the morrow and catch 
the first train for my intended destination. 

Three things were uppermost in my mind. The 
missing papers, what had become of little Beatrice, and 
where I could find my parents. These three mys- 
teries I must solve. Where should I begin? Which 
one of these three cases needed my attention first? I 
was debating with myself upon these subjects when 
Mr. Little called me to one side and handed me a 
package of papers, saying: 

“Alden, these were left here for you by Pat Garrett, 
who gave positive instructions not to deliver them to 
anyone else than you. He has had considerable trouble 
with Mr. Livingston’s brother, relative to them. ” 

Needless to say that it was an agreeable surprise to 
say the least, to receive them and to have them in my 
possession. 

After concealing them on my person I took Mr. 


6o 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


Little into my confidence and told him all I knew about 
Mr. Clements and the mission that brought him all 
of the way from Boston to New Mexico. Mr. Little 
was a very shrewd little man and one whom I could 
trust. He was conscientious and honest in all of his 
transactions and he had promised to assist me until I 
had completed the task which I had undertaken. In 
him I had found a true and loyal friend. When the 
time had arrived for me to take the train for Silver City, 
Mr. Clements accompanied me to the station, and bade 
me Godspeed. I was loth to part company with him 
as we had become very good friends, but under the 
circumstances, the only thing I could do was to go alone. 
Little did he know that the missing papers that he 
wanted so badly were at that moment in the plain look- 
ing little travelling bag which I had deposited in the 
seat beside me. 

When I reached Silver City, I went to Mr. 
Garrett’s office, which was located in the Court House. 
There I found him busily engaged in his official 
capacity as court was in session. I took a seat in the 
court room and listened to the last plea for the 
State by the district attorney. The case before the 
jury was one of the most common crimes committed 
in that country, namely, the theft of some cattle and 
the changing of their brands; in other words, cattle 
rustling. When the court had taken recess, on account 
of the noon hour, Pat Garrett came forward to meet 
me, and before me stood the man\who was to give me 
advice and assistance in the tasks I had undertaken. 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


61 


I took the missing papers from my travelling bag 
and handed them to him. 

“These,” he said, “we will read before some notary 
public, and then we will give them to the rightful owner.” 

We found a notary and in his presence Pat Gartret 
unsealed the package and in a loud voice this is what 
he read: 

“Livingston Ranch, August 19, 18 — . 
To My Executors: 

In case I should meet with an accident which 
causes my death. 

That I, Patrick Livingston, being of sound mind 
and of my own free will and accord do hereby bequeath 
to my daughter Beatrice, all that I possess : My home 
and business in Chicago and New York. My ranch 
of about forty thousand acres, more or less, situated 
about ten miles from Stein’s Pass, in Grant County, 
Territory of New Mexico, and all moneys, stocks, and 
bonds deposited by me in the Corn Exchange Bank of 
New York, which I am at the head of. I make this 
will in case that my wife Beatrice Perry Livingston 
shall die before me. In case that I am the last surviv- 
ing member of my family having no near relatives other 
than a stepbrother, one Francis Livingston, whom I 
disinherit and disown, and he shall not benefit by any 
moneys or other valuables connected in any shape or 
form with my estate. In the event of the death of 
myself and family, I bequeath all right and titles to 
my various properties, stocks, bonds and moneys to 
Alden Raymond, who on one occasion saved my life, 


62 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


and to whom I am everlastingly indebted, for the 
services he has rendered me and mine, although a 
perfect stranger to me. 

Witness my hand and seal this day of 

our Lord : , August the 19th, 18 — . 

Patrick Livingston. 


By J. B. Withrock, 

Notary Public .” 

As Pat Garrett had finished reading he exclaimed: 
“Well, the plot thickens!” I did not like the looks 
of that fellow Francis Livingston, that is the reason 
that I refused to give him these papers; to be frank 
with you I believe him to be a scoundrel. At the inquest 
before we shipped the remains of Mr. and Mrs. Liv- 
ingston to Chicago, he sat with little Beatrice upon 
his knee and shed a basketful of crocodile tears, the 
hypocrite.” 

As he finished speaking he took up another one of 
the papers F and this is what it contained: 

“I cannot ever adequately thank Alden Raymond 
for the services he has rendered me, even from the first 
time we met in the lone cabin on the plains, when 
Raymond and I were once prisoners in the hands 
of outlaws who led us bound in chains into their 
stronghold in the underground caverns of the Pilon- 
cillo mountains. Here by his courage and ingenuity 
Raymond secured my release. Why I was taken 
prisoner I cannot say, but I think my stepbrother, 
Francis Livingston was the instigator of this outrage. 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


63 


I am fully convinced that I met the said Francis Living- 
ston in the person of one of the outlaws in the under- 
ground caverns. In the past he has threatened myself 
and my family with bodily harm, — nay even death — 
if we did not accede to his wishes. We have refused him 
all of his demands, and I am afraid that sooner or later 
he will bring sorrow into our household ; even as I write 
this, I have before me a telegram from my wife and baby 
to meet them in Lordsburg, tomorrow. 

“ Before I left Stein’s Pass there were rumors of an 
Indian uprising. I feel that Francis Livingston has 
been instrumental in bringing my loved ones here in 
these dangerous times. He would stop at nothing to 
accomplish his base desires. 

“No matter how my death occurs, or how much it 
may seem like the will of God, investigate it and you 
will find Francis Livingston caused it. This is a broad 
assertion but if you knew the said Francis Livingston 
as I do you would not wonder at my accusation. 

“P. L.” 

After he had finished perusing the rest of the papers 
Mr. Garrett turned to me and said : 

“ What do you think of this case, Alden ? ” 

“Mr. Garrett,” I replied, “there is nothing plainer 
to me than that this man, Francis Livingston, is more 
than a scoundrel — he is a fiend, and there is nothing 
left for us to do but to investigate more minutely the 
cause of the Indian uprising, which caused the death 
of the Livingstons, and if Francis Livingston had a 


64 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


hand in it, to prosecute him for the murder. Can 
you tell me, Mr. Garnett, what has become of little 
Beatrice?” 

“Her uncle took charge of her and they left for the 
East while you were confined to your room in Lords- 
burg.” 

“Have you seen Francis Livingston in the last few 
days? I had for a travelling companion a Mr. Clem- 
ents, an attorney at law, in the employ of Francis 
Livingston. We travelled together all the way from 
Boston to Lordsburg. He is there now and no doubt 
you will soon receive a visit from him as he is in search 
of the papers now in our possession. He also wishes 
to find some trace of one Alden Raymond. For the 
present, Mr. Garrett, I am supposed to be dead, you 
understand.” 

He only nodded in assent, and I knew that Pat Garrett 
understood. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


On the Trail. 

S IX months had elapsed since Pat Garrett and I 
took the trail in search of little Beatrice and 
her uncle, Francis Livingston. We followed them 
as far as Trinidad, Colorado. Here we lost all trace 
of them. We diligently inquired of everyone we met 
and the only information we obtained was that a man 
and a child answering to the description we gave was 
seen to alight from a train on the day specified. They 
were met at the station by two men and both the man 
and the child were driven rapidly away in a westerly 
direction towards San Luis. This information was 
cheerfully furnished by the Sante Fe Station Agent, 
who seemed to have a facility for remembering such 
occurrences. 

We secured horses to ride and one for a pack animal 
and started across the country for San Luis. We 
travelled by easy stages, noticing as we went along the 
lay of the land and always on the alert to see anything 
that might lead to a clew which would put us upon 
the track of those we sought. We searched every 
foot of the way, examined every ravine, cave, creek, 
and nook, but without success. 

Weary and tired from our long search we turned 
our horses towards New Mexico and after weeks of 


66 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


hard riding through one of the roughest countries I 
ever beheld, we at last drew rein in the village of Taos. 
Here we spent a few days getting ourselves and horses 
in shape for our long, dreary ride to Sante Fe. On a 
beautiful morning in the latter part of the month of 
September, we started forth from Taos and took a 
trail which ran along the south side of the Rocky 
Mountains. The trail took us through a marvelous 
country, picturesque and very wild, where the foot of 
civilization and progress had never trod. Once or 
twice we were interrupted on our journey by roving 
bands of Indians, who on more than one occasion 
gave us a little uneasiness, and a great amount of 
trouble, and I was more than thankful when I perceived 
in the distance the spire of the old mission church 
which told us of our approach to the old historical 
town of Sante Fe. One would naturally ask oneself 
why we did not return from our search to Trinidad by 
rail, instead of making such a long trip overland. 
Pat Garrett was the only man that could explain this 
satisfactorily, but for some reason known to himself 
he would not. He was compelled to keep his mission 
to Sante Fe a secret. While there we called upon the 
Governor, Gen. Lew Wallace, and he promised all the 
aid that he could command in clearing up the mys- 
terious disappearance of Francis Livingston and his 
niece. 

He went so far as to promise to take the matter up 
with 4 the Governor of the State of Colorado, and every 
sheriff in New Mexico, would be furnished with a good 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


67 


description of the missing^ people. Little Beatrice 
was hopelessly lost to us, for the present. There was 
only one plan for us to pursue, and that was to compel 
Mr. Clements to give us all the information in his 
possession concerning the whereabouts of his client, 
Francis Livingston. 

We returned to Silver^ City^and jwhen we arrived 
there we had a call from Mr. Clements. After the 
usual preliminaries had been dispensed with, Mr. 
Clements related to us all that he had wished to ac- 
complish during his stay in New Mexico, and he con- 
tinued: 

“Mr. Garrett, there are two questions that I must 
have information upon, namely, where are the missing 
papers, which rightfully belong to my client, Francis 
Livingston, and where can I find the one man above 
all others that I must see, the said Alden Raymond?” 

When he had finished speaking I stepped forward 
and said, “Let us understand each other, Mr. Clements. 

I am Alden Raymond whom you seek, and I have the 
missing papers in my possession, which do not belong 
to Francis Livingston, but to his niece Beatrice.” 

He looked surprised at first, but he soon found voice: 

“If this be true, Mr. Raymond, my search is at an 
end. Please hand over the papers to me.” 

“Not for the world, Mr. Clements, can I yield to 
your wishes. I can only give them to the rightful owner. 

“Mr Garrett, you will arrest that man.” 

“Not so fast, sir; these papers were entrusted to his 
care by the late Patrick Livingston, and they contain 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


68 J 

instructions which must be carried out, and I will 
see that they are fulfilled to the letter, or my name is 
not Pat Garrett, Sheriff of Grant County.” 

This was too much for Mr. Clements. He could not 
understand why Pat Garrett should take such a stand 
when he was given the power of attorney by Francis 
Livingston to act for him in all matters pertaining to 
the estate of the late Patrick Livingston. 

“I am sorry, gentlemen,” he began, “but my duty 
demands that I should see the papers in question, 
that I may know something of the existing circumstances 
so that I can explain thoroughly to my client.” 

I unfolded the papers and read the contents to him. 
His amazement knew r no bounds, and he sat as one in 
a trance until I had finished reading, then, he ex- 
claimed: “Gentlemen, I have come to the conclusion 
that my long trip was in vain. This was a wild goose 
chase, and has cost me a great deal of time and money. 
I will go back at once to Boston, for I can plainly see 
that my client has nothing to do at all with the estate 
in question. ” 

As he rose to leave Mr. Garrett detained him. 

“A word with you, sir, before you go. Mr. Clem- 
ents, can you tell me where your client is, or can be 
found?” 

“No, sir, but I think that he is somewhere in this 
neighborhood.” 

“Have you seen him since your arrival?” 

“No, sir, I have not. You seem to take great in- 
terest in this case.” 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


69 


“Right you are, Mr. Clements, for I am going to 
hunt until I find Francis Livingston, for he must answer 
for the disappearance of little Beatrice, and if he can 
not produce her, I will prosecute him until death shall 
end his earthly career. This man is a fiend and he 
would stop at nothing to accomplish his desires.” 

When Mr. Garrett had finished speaking I related to 
Mr. Clements all of my experiences and acquaintance 
with Patrick Livingston — how we first met in the lone 
cabin on the plains, how we were prisoners together 
in the caverns of the Piloncillo Mountains, of our es- 
cape, of the stage-coach hold-up, and of the raid upon 
the Livingston ranch. How I was entrusted with the 
papers, of my race for life to save the little Beatrice, 
and how Pat Garrett had saved us; of the suspicions 
that the late Mr. Livingston had entertained about his 
brother Francis belonging to the outlaws, who were 
his captors. 

“If all you have told me, gentlemen, is true about 
Francis Livingston, I wash my hands of him from 
this moment on, and if you should need my assistance 
I will only be too glad to do all I can in the name 
of justice.” 

“As you well know, Mr. Clements,” observed, Pat 
Garrett, '‘that your client has a home in Boston, will 
you give us your assistance in that quarter?” 

“To be sure, I will, with all my heart. I am at your 
service. Whenever you command, I will obey.” 


70 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


“When you reach home, Mr. Clements, hire a de- 
tective to watch Francis Livingston’s home and report 
his every movement to me.” 

“ Gentlemen, I will do as you say. Here is my card, 
and I hope we will enter into a correspondence that 
will lead to the undoing of this villain. Good-bye, 
gentlemen. I must bid you adieu.” With these words 
he strode out. 

Our next step for the locating of Francis Livingston 
must depend upon developments, as it was decided 
that Pat Garrett would spend some of his time in his 
official capacity in the interest of the county, which he 
had neglected in the past few months. He therefore, 
called a meeting of all his deputies and posse men 
and issued to them instructions which if carefully 
carried out would bring outlawry to a successful termi- 
nation in the great southwest. 

The hold-ups of “Billie the Kid” and his band of 
cutthroats and the raids of Geronimo and of his red 
devils were becoming too frequent in Grant County, 
and measures must be immediately adopted to cope 
with the progress of the outlaws and Indians in their 
fiendish crimes. 

Reports were received frequently from the different 
parts of the county of murder and various crimes too 
horrible to mention. About a week had elapsed since 
our arrival in Silver City and Pat Garrett and I were 
in the saddle once more at the head of fifteen picked 
men on the trail, which would lead us to the robbers’ 
stronghold in the caverns of the Piloncillo mountains. 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


7i 


When we reached the outlaws ’ stronghold, determined 
to give battle, we found that our covey had flown, 
leaving no evidence or absolutely nothing that would 
even intimate to us the direction they had taken in 
their flight. We came to the conclusion that it would 
only be a waste of time to try to follow them without 
some clew as a starting point. So after debating 
over the matter, we turned our horses and headed them 
back foi Stein’s Pass. 

The one thing uppermost in my mind now was 
to visit the Livingston ranch and see how things 
were progressing there. When we arrived in Stein’s 
Pass, I made known my intention to Pat Garrett, and 
with a hearty hand shake and a Godspeed, he bade 
me good-bye. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


What My Visit to the Livingston Ranch Brought 
Forth. 

PEARLY the next morning I was in the saddle 
and expected to reach my destination before the 
sun’s rays became unbearable. Reader, if you have not 
ridden over the hot sandy plains of New Mexico at 
noon -tide, when Old Sol is in all his glory, you can 
not realize the intense heat which is reflected from 
her sandy desert. Knowing as I do, you can not 
blame or misjudge me for taking an early start to 
avoid the unpleasant heat of the day. I arrived at 
my destination about nine o’clock and as I rode up 
to the house I noticed signs of life and activity. I 
hesitated for a few minutes as my recollection recalled 
to me the tragedy which was enacted upon this spot 
some months before. It all came back to me as a 
message from the dead. I asked myself over and over 
again, “Was I fulfilling the vow I had taken to 
protect the little Beatrice? Might she not at this 
moment, while I was tarrying here, need assistance? 
While I stood gazing at the spot where her parents’ 
fell, she might need a strong arm to protect her from 
the evil designs of Francis Livingston. “Merciful God, 
come to my assistance,! Show me what path to 
pursue to find little Beatrice!” 

The vow I had made to Mrs. Livingston was there 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


73 


renewed on the very spot where she had fallen, an in- 
nocent victim to treacherous Apache bullets. I raised 
my right hand to Heaven and swore that I would 
not leave a stone unturned that I would search every 
nook and corner of the earth until I found him who was 
responsible for the disappearance of the little daughter 
of my benefactor, Patrick Livingston. I hesitated no 
longer; my mission was just commenced, and delays 
were dangerous. I must go into action at once. Dis- 
mounting from my horse and throwing the reins on 
the ground I stalked up to the house. The only sign 
of life within was the rustling of a little dog, who ap- 
peared at the door winking and blinking at me. How 
much he looked like the little pet I had left at home 
in far away Boston, only this little fellow had grown 
old and grey. 

It did not v occur to me that dogs, like human beings, 
grew old, and before I realized what I was doing I 
had him up in my arms petting him; he seemed as 
glad to see me as though he had known me in bygone 
days. So intent was I watching his antics that I be- 
came oblivious to my surroundings, until my attention 
was called to a shadow appearing in the doorway. 

Oh, Joy of Joys ! There stood before me my mother 
and my sister Blanche, but they did not recognize me. 
My first impulse was to fly to them and embrace them, 
but the sentence which passed my mother’s lips ar- 
rested me for a moment, so I determined to master 
my emotions, and let the truth dawn gradually upon 
them. My mother addressed me: 


74 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


“Sir, the dog has taken quite a fancy to you; there 
are not many strangers to whom he takes a fancy. 
Will you come in and be seated?” 

I thanked her and asked her if I could see Mr. Ray- 
mond. She told me that my father would return for 
dinner, and that I should make myself at home. 

“Pardon me,, sir, what is your name?” 

“Lon Steele,” I replied. 

“ Mr. Steele, you will pardon my daughter and me, 
as we have much to do before Mr. Raymond returns 
to dinner.” With these words she left the room. 

Here was a nice state of affairs. At last I had found 
my parents, and my family, but they knew me not. 
What great change had taken place in me during 
my absence, that my mother should not know me? 
As I was revolving these thoughts in my mind, I gazed 
around the room and many things I saw there brought 
back to me the happy days of the past. My gaze 
became riveted upon a portrait of myself ; then I picked 
up a hand mirror and looked thoughtfully into its 
depths, and for the first time I realized that there 
was no resemblance whatever between the picture 
and the face in the glass. 

I now understood why my mother and sister did 
not know me. The portrait was that of a young man 
with clear-cut features, and white skin, while I was 
bronzed and bearded by the heat of the sun and the 
western winds. From the moment I had made the 
discovery, I resolved to act the part I had chosen, not 
through choice, but which was cast upon me against 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


75 







my will. I sat down calmly to await developments 
and having nothing to employ my attention, I picked 
up a book, a little volume entitled “ Near to Nature’s 
Heart.” As I scanned the fly-leaf I was amazed, dumb- 
founded. I rubbed my eyes. Was I asleep or awake? 
Was it a dream? No. It could not be for I had the 
full use of all the faculties of a normal man. If a 
thunderbolt had struck that house and splintered it 
over my head, I would not have been more paralyzed, 
for what I read upon that fly leaf was “To Blanche 
from Francis Livingston.” This was too much for 
my poor overworked brain. “ God in Heaven, can it 
be possible that my adored sister associated with this 
vile scoundrel. If such is the case I have a double 
task to perform. I have the welfare of the two beings 
I love most on earth to protect. Oh, God, in all justice 
and mercy show me light and give me strength to do 
Thy will in all things.” My life, was it to be that of an 
avenger? Why could I not pass through this valley 
of tears into the unknown beyond, as many others 
have done, who have gone before, and who will come 
after me, a peaceful, honorable and God-fearing man ? 
Must I stain my hands in human blood and go to my 
grave with the mark of Cain stamped upon my brow, 
never to be effaced ? God’s will must be done. At 
that very moment if Francis Livingston had crossed 
my path, I would have strangled him, knowing, as I 
do the awful consequences which befall the lot of 
anyone who takes the life of his fellow man, and has 


76 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


his blood upon his hands, — Perdition and Damnation 
forever. 

My long wait was at last rewarded for my father 
entered the room where I sat, and shook me by the 
hand, saying: 

“Mr. Steele, I have just returned from a ride over 
the ranch, and was apprised of your visit. I under- 
stand that you wish to see me.” 

“If you are Mr. Raymond I have a few words to say 
that may interest you. Are you acquainted with one 
Francis Livingston?” 

“Yes, sir, he is a frequent caller here and in the near 
future he will marry my only daughter, Blanche.” 

“Mr. Raymond, let me warn you in time against this 
man. I would rather see your daughter dead than the 
wife of Francis Livingston.” 

“Mr. Steele, a few more words of information, if 
you please: Why do you come to me, a total stranger 
and try to blacken the character of one who is absent 
and an honest and honorable gentleman. I will not 
listen to another word of accusation against him.” 

“Mr. Raymond, I have many reasons which I can 
not disclose to you at present, nevertheless I have 
warned you against the worst vagabond in this country, 
and now I make a solemn vow that your daughter will 
never wed Francis Livingston. I am your friend and 
will protect you from the shame and disgrace of such 
an alliance with that man. I am not here to pry into 
your private affairs, only to warn you. If you expect 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


77 


a call from Mr. Livingston soon, with your permission 
I will wait and hurl my accusations into his face.” 

“As you like, Mr. Steele. Come, we will have 
dinner. Things pass in the usual way when a stranger 
is present.” 

My remarks and attitude towards Francis Livingston 
were whispered from one to another. I could read by 
the expression on each face around me that something 
was working at their heartstrings, and it was apparent 
that my words had made an impression which would 
cause no end of debating on their part. 

As the afternoon was drawing to a close and Francis 
Livingston came not, I bade farewell to my host, thank- 
ing him for his hospitality, and as he shook me by the 
hand he smiled and begged that I must come often 
to see him. I thanked him again and promised to 
call when next I was in that vicinity. I secured my 
horse and rode away, happy in my thoughts, for on that 
day I had found two things, namely, my parents, and 
a clew, which, no doubt, would be the undoing of 
Francis Livingston. 


CHAPTER XV. 


The Secret Died with Him. 

\XfHEN I reached Stein’s Pass, I had the good 
fortune to meet Pat Garrett, and when we 
were safely housed in one of the rooms of the 
hotel, I related to him and Mr. Little all that had 
happened during my absence. The finding of my 
parents, the engagement of my sister to the vagabond, 
Francis Livingston, and all items of interest as they 
had occurred. We formed many plans for the cap- 
ture of Livingston, together with “Billie the Kid,” and 
the other members of his lawless gang. The only 
plan that would carry out with any amount of success 
was to surround and watch the Livingston ranch for 
the appearance of Francis Livingston. When all ar- 
rangements had been made, Pat Garrett, myself and 
four picked men galloped out of Stein’s Pass, towards 
our intended destination. It was late in the evening 
when we reached the terminus of our journey. After 
a scanty supper, which we had stowed away in our 
saddle bags, we took our positions, Garrett and I 
taking our place in the corner of the paddock, near the 
stables, Harvey Whitehill watched the trail from 
Stein’s Pass, Charley Everhart, the one from Lords- 
burg and Pete Everett, the one that led to the Pilon- 
cillo mountains, and Jack Bryan, the road that passed 
Gila Bend. 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


79 


We watched all night without success and the next 
night also with disappointment. A week had passed 
and Livingston did not put in his appearance. 
Something must be done to effect his capture at once. 
The suspense I was enduring was driving me to mad- 
- ness. What fate had befallen the innocent babe I 
had sworn to protect, to the last drop of my blood, 
nay, even till the last breath had passed out of my 
body? Would I ever find her? I had for some time 
past loved the child with more than a brotherly affec- 
tion. In fact I loved her better than my own life, and 
was ready and willing at any time to give it up for her 
sake, if it would save her from harm. 

In the meantime Pat Garrett had put a number of 
men in the field, but with no better success than we 
had attained. If Francis Livingston was in New 
Mexico his capture must soon come about as nothing 
was left undone to gain this end. 

If he had left the country and had gone to his home 
in Boston, Mr. Clements would immediately have him 
placed under arrest. Another week had almost passed, 
still Livingston did not come. When we had formed 
a new plan of action, and turned our horses’ heads 
towards Lordsburg, and as we emerged from the little 
creek, and were rounding the Red Butts, we came un- 
expectedly face to face with the man whom we most 
of all desired to see, Francis Livingston. 

When he saw us approaching he turned his horse 
and started off at breakneck speed. He was scarcely 
more than three hundred yards away when Harvey 


8o 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


Whitehill vaulted from his horse and placing his Win- 
chester across the bow of his saddle, he fired. Living- 
ston was seen to throw up his hands, sway and reel in 
the saddle, and then he fell heavily to the ground, his 
horse continuing its mad flight. When we reached 
his side he opened his eyes and stared at us, and ex- 
claimed : 

“ I guess, boys, you have done for me. I have had 
many narrow escapes, but the jig is up now.” 

Before he had finished speaking, I had recognized 
him as the handsome man whom I first met in the 
caverns of the Piloncillo mountains. 

Patrick Livingston’s suspicions were not without 
foundation, for there before us lay his stepbrother, 
Francis Livingston, the acknowledged leader of “Billie 
the Kid” and his outlaws. His life’s blood was fast 
ebbing away, and the look of death was visible upon 
his face. There was no time to waste, so I bent down 
over him and placed my hand caressingly upon his 
brow. He looked into my eyes, and I saw that he was 
repenting. I felt sympathy for him in my heart. 

“Francis Livingston,” I exclaimed, “as you are 
about to pass into the unknown beyond, into the 
presence of the Creator, tell me truthfully, where is 
your niece, Beatrice?” 

He tried to speak, but his breath came in short 
gasps, and the death rattle mounded in his throat. Grim 
Death had claimed him for his own. The dreaded 
Francis Livingston was no more. We raised him 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


81 


gently and bore him to the foot of the Red Butts, and 
consigned him to his last resting place. 

As these last solemn words, “ Earth to earth, and dust 
to dust,” fell from the lips of Pat Garrett, more than 
one pair of eyes filled with tears, for even brave men 
when brought face to face with the dread reality of 
death, forget for a moment their wonted courage and 
melt unwittingly into tears of tenderness. It is the 
attribute of lofty souls to realize even their own noth- 
ingness and give way to sentiments of pious sympathy 
at the grave of a departed brother. 

Livingston had met with a well-merited death, it is 
true, but withal the handsome Livingston, though 
now a villain, was once a promising youth, possessed 
of valor courage, intrepidity. Only evil companions 
and the venomous counsels of guileful friends could 
have perverted the heart, and made a bandit of that 
once noble youth. It was those considerations that 
still excited the admiration and moistened the eyes of 
those rustic brave sons of the West. As the last 
shovelful of earth completed the small mound over 
Livingston’s corpse, we turned our footsteps homeward 
with a sigh of mingled satisfaction and regret. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


Pat Garrett’s Vow. 

B EFORE taking leave of Livingston’s last resting 
place, Pat Garrett had uncovered his head 
and over the grave, with his eyes turned towards 
Heaven, had taken a solemn vow to complete the 
annihilation of “Billie the Kid”, and his lawless band. 

“On the morrow,” he continued, “I shall go forth 
alone and I will never come back until I bring in 
‘Billie the Kid’, dead or alive, and if I never come back 
and ‘Billie the Kid’ is still in the land of the living, you 
will know that he got the drop on me; that I am no 
more.” Turning to Harvey Whitehill he said: “Take 
up the task where I was compelled to leave and bring 
outlawry to a successful termination.” 

As Garrett and his men started down the trail for 
Lordsburg, I bade them good-bye and turned back 
towards the Livingston ranch ; for I had decided to start 
at once to renew my search for the missing child, but 
before going I must see my parents and sister, even if 
I had to bid them good-bye as a stranger. 

I was given a hearty welcome when I reached the 
ranch. While there I was determined to ease my mind 
and tell my father of the tragedy, and of the burial of 
its victim. During the course of our conversation, 
my eyes wandered to the portrait of myself upon the 
wall. For the first time I noticed its frame draped in 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


*3 


black, in mourning. What could this mean? Did 
they think me dead ? My father seemed to notice the 
gaze I fixed upon the picture, and without more ado 
he related to me how his son had left home in the 
employ of the Government as an engineer; how he 
had come to New Mexico in that capacity, and of his 
death which was reported by his friends who belonged 
to the same corps. My father was fully convinced 
that I was dead, and I must be careful lest I betray 
myself, for it might prove fatal to him as his health 
was failing in his declining years. 

A sudden violent surprise such as my declaring my- 
self his son here in his presence would probably cause 
him such a shock as might end him there and then. 
When he had finished his narrative I told him that I 
knew his son quite well, and if my memory did not 
play me false, that he was still alive and had a secret 
mission to perform, a vow to the dead, and that he did 
not have time to come to see his parents until that 
mission was fulfilled. 

“There is no doubt in my mind that when your son 
has accomplished his mission, he will call on you and 
reveal himself to you as a son of whom you shall have 
reason to be justly proud. Only be patient and this 
will all come to pass in due time.” 

“I can hardly credit what you seem to prophesy,” 
answered my old father. “If our son Alden were alive 
he would search the world over for us. No, my poor 
boy is dead,” and the tears flowed in big drops down 
his hollow cheeks. 


84 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


“No, your son is not dead, Mr. Raymond. I will 
find him for you myself if I have to hunt the world 
over. He is living, and where there is life there is hope.” 
I bade my parents and sister good-bye, and left them 
with a strong feeling that I was wronging them by 
leaving their hospitable roof without first telling them 
more about their long-missing son. When I was 
comfortably seated in the train bearing me to my first 
stopping place, Trinidad, I sincerely regretted not 
having dispelled their gloomy forebodings concerning 
their absent son, by revealing my identity. It was 
now too late to go back, so I continued my journey to 
Trinidad, there to begin my search for the missing 
child, but all to no purpose. From there I travelled 
eastward, stopping at every hamlet, village, city and 
town, but could obtain no clue to the object of my 
quest. Still confident of my ultimate success, I pursued 
my search with renewed vigor. 

A year had elapsed since last I had set foot in New 
Mexico. Every hour of that time I had employed in 
looking up Beatrice in Chicago, where I had gone to 
see to the Livingston interests. Daily I wandered 
along the streets and byways of the great city of the 
lakes, all eyes and ears, to catch a glimpse or sound 
that would throw some light on the mystery that was 
fast consuming my life. 

Many a time would my mind wander off to Eugene 
Sue’s “Wandering Jew”, and I could picture to myself 
the miserable Jew who was commanded “To go on, 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 85 

to go on.” Something in my own conscience com- 
manded me also to go on. 

Like the fated Jew, I was a wanderer, wandering 
the world over. When and where would these wander- 
ings cease ? Must I go on, go on, until death came to 
put an end to these fruitless journeyings, or was I 
destined to fulfill the vow I had taken? Doubts and 
questionings now began to rise in my mind, and feel- 
ings of uneasiness seemed fast taking possession of 
me. Day followed day and still the object of my vow 
lay in darkest obscurity, so far as I was concerned. 
Was I not pursuing a vain phantom, and had I not 
better return to my old father and mother and there 
be the consolation of their old age and lead a life of 
quiet and happiness ? I was startled from this line of 
thought by a newsboy shouting at the top of his voice: 
‘57. Louis Republic! All the latest news ! Great fire in 
New York! All about the death of ‘Billie the Kid’!” 

I called out to the newsboy: “A paper, please!” I 
handed the boy his penny and eagerly scanned the 
headings of the Republic. There were the big head- 
lines: “ Billie the Kid’ No More.” Below followed the 
whole story in a nutshell in a special despatch to the 
Republic, dated from Silver City: “Pat Garrett has 
finally taken the path of ‘Billie the Kid,’ after hounding 
him from one hiding place to the other.” 

Garrett pursued the notorious outlaw night and 
day. “Billie the Kid” had made up his mind to 
leave the country, and had come to Maxwell Ranch, to 
bid his sweetheart good-bye. Garrett preceded him 


86 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


thither, he set watch for the bandit. At a late hour 
of the night “Billie” had not yet appeared, so Garrett 
lay dozing on his bed awaiting his victim. A call at 
the gate announced the presence of some one. Here 
was the reckless “Billie.” He came forward and halted 
at the threshold of the house. A suspicion flashed 
across his mind: “Who is the stranger present?” he 
asked the keeper of the ranch, at the same time reach- 
ing for his revolvers. That was the signal for the fatal 
shot from Garrett’s deadly weapon. A flash, a report, 
and “Billie the Kid” fell dead across the threshold with 
a bullet through his heart. Pat Garrett had fulfilled 
the vow taken over Francis Livingston’s grave, and with 
the death of “Billie the Kid” outlawry in New Mexico 
fast gave way to times of peace and security. 


/ 


CHAPTER XVII. 

Ten Years Afterwards. 

qPEN long years had intervened between the events 
“■* related in the foregoing chapters and those which 
follow in this narrative. I had almost given up in 
despair of ever hearing what had become of the missing 
child, Beatrice Livingston, now grown into woman- 
hood, if she were still alive. 

Her interests in Chicago had materially increased, 
and the ranch in my father’s care was a good paying 
business. There were many thousands of dollars 
waiting for the missing heiress, but she came not to 
claim them. I had taken up my residence in Chicago, 
where I could watch and inspect the business daily, 
so as to be at hand to discover irregularities, should 
any happen. I was looked upon as the master and 
the owner of the many thousands securely locked in 
the Livingston vault, but touch one cent of it I would 
not, for I always had a presentiment that the missing 
heiress would some day be found. 

During those ten long years my mind was active and 
I was always upon the alert to find a clew which would 
unravel the mysterious disappearance of the one I 
sought. Some of the best detectives were put upon 
the case, but they were baffied; they could not solve 
the problem; still I did not give up. I visited almost 
every school, university, orphan’s home, foundling and 


88 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


insane asylum, and in all of the leading papers I had 
placed advertisements. In answer to these, and in 
my weary wanderings I encountered many Beatrices, 
who would like to take the place of the missing heiress, 
but none could compare with the likeness of her 
stamped so deeply in my memory. 

One cold, rainy evening in the middle of the month 
of March, while I was sitting gazing into the glowing 
fire that was blazing brightly in the grate of my sitting 
room, my man-of-all-work appeared in the room bear- 
ing a small card on which was engraved the name 
“John Lewis.” I scrutinized it intently for a few 
minutes, turning it over and over again m a vain 
attempt to see if I could come to some conclusion as to 
what Mr. Lewis’ visit might mean at such an untimely 
hour. I told my man to show him in, and as he crossed 
the threshold I took a complete survey of him. Pie 
was a small but rather heavy set, restless man with a 
round smooth-shaven face, small, restless, grey eyes, 
and slightly bald. Under his arm he carried a massive 
gold headed cane and in his left hand a tall, shiny silk 
hat. His black suit and overcoat were faultless, and 
denoted wealth and refinement. Coming towards me 
with a pleasant smile upon his countenance, he ex- 
tended his disengaged hand to me which I accepted 
in greeting. When the usual formalities had been 
dispensed with, I bade my visitor to be seated. After 
he had removed his overcoat and had seated himself 
he drew a letter from an inner pocket of his coat and 
remarked: “You see it is like this, Mr. Raymond, 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


89 


I have here a letter of introduction from a friend of 
mine to you, and if you will read it, I will explain my 
call,” 

I took the letter from its envelope and this is what it 
contained : 

“To Mr. Alden Raymond, 

Chicago, 111 . 

Friend Raymond: 

This will introduce the bearer, Mr. John Lewis, 
a gentleman whom I have known for the past twenty 
years. As he is about to take a trip to Europe, I 
told him about you and your institution, and advised 
him to leave all his business affairs in your hands 
during his absence, as I know that they will be 
safely taken care of. 

Your friend, 

James Little. 

Stein’s Pass, New Mexico, 3-10, 18 — .” 

As I finished reading the letter and the name sub- 
scribed at the bottom, all the scenes came back to me 
again. The survey, the lone cabin on the plains, the 
caverns in the mountains, the stage coach hold-up, 
and all the events as they occurred. As my mind 
wandered from scene to scene of those bygone days, 
I became so interested in them that I had completely 
forgotten the existence of my visitor, and was only 
brought out of my reveries when he moved nervously 
in his chair and coughed slightly to draw my attention. 
I begged his pardon, and we settled down to business. 


go 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


I will not try to relate to you his story, the history 
of his past life as he told it to me, but I will do my 
best with your permission to give you the most inter- 
esting details of his life. After he had lighted a cigar 
and settled himself in a most comfortable position, 
this is how he began his narrative: 

“Mr. Raymond, I hardly know where to begin. 
My life has been a most interesting one, and I have 
passed through trials, tribulations, and troubles more 
than is the lot of average man. When I was a wee bit 
of a lad my parents died, leaving me a penniless beggar. 
I was thrown into the busy streets of the City of New 
York, there to live and subsist as best I could. My 
companions were not of the best and my humble abode 
was on the Bowery. 

In compensation for my services in a cheap restaurant 
I received my board and a cot in the hall. I had spent 
nearly a year in my humble position, and small and 
menial as it was, I was envied by many a waif, but my 
employer died, and I was only one of the many wit- 
nesses who saw his poor widow auctioned out of 
house and home. Once more I was cast upon my 
own resources. That night I went to bed supperless 
in a hay mow in a barn, and the next morning I was 
roughly awakened, arrested and taken to the police 
station on the charge of stealing harness. I was 
found guilty and sentenced to the reformatory school, 
to stay there until I became of age. Three months 
later I escaped by boldly walking out of the building 
past my keepers. I made my way to the New York 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


9i 


Central freight yards, and boarded an outgoing 
freight train, not caring where it might take me, and 
after a long weary ride, almost frozen, and half starved, 
I found myself in Buffalo, where I was compelled to 
leave the train and seek something to quiet the pangs 
of hunger that were gnawing at my vitals. As I crossed 
the street in the direction of a chop house, I put on a 
bold front and entered asking for the proprietor. He 
listened to me kindly and when I had finished my 
story he put me to work doing chores around the place. 
I was happy in my new position and had been there 
about a week when I overheard part of a conversation 
between two men who were having a lunch together, 
at a small table, situated near the partition which 
separated the dining room from the kitchen, where I 
was engaged assisting the cook. Their conversation 
was relative to the shipping of some stock to a western 
point. From what I could learn they were having some 
difficulty in securing a suitable person to take charge 
of the (stock en route, for one of the men, was no 
other than Dick Lavigne, a wealthy mine owner a 
cattle king of Colorado. He was saying to his friend: 
‘ If I could only find a boy to go with the stock, it 
would be a great load taken off my mind.” 

I listened to no more of their conversation, for I had 
made up my mind to go to them and tell them to look 
no further, as I was ready to take charge of their stock. 
Suiting the word to the action, I ventured forth and 
asked them for the job. They looked at me in surprise 
when I broached the subject to them, and Mr. Lavigne 


92 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


exclaimed, “But, son, you are too small, and I don’t 
believe that you will do.” A little urging and a great 
deal of pleading on my part was necessary before they 
were satisfied that I would do. At last they decided 
that I should accompany the stock through to Cripple 
Creek, their destination. 

I will not detain you by relating my journey, and 
will only add that fortune smiled upon me in my new 
home, for Mr. Lavigne was kind and gave me many 
advantages, and when opportunity was passing by I 
grasped her by the hand. I secured some mining 
properties which have proven to be very valuable. 
I am here to-night to entrust all of my business affairs 
in your hands, during my absence in Europe, as I have 
great confidence in your ability to handle all matters 
ably and conscientiously.” 

I thanked him for his confidence and when we had 
settled all matters to his entire satisfaction, as he was 
about to retire he hesitated for a moment, as if some- 
thing was upon his mind, upon which he was debating 
within himself. 

“Oh, by the way, Mr. Raymond,” he exclaimed, 
“before I forget it, as I cannot tell how long I may 
remain abroad, I must tell you to look after my daughter 
Marcia, who is now attending the Sisters’ convent, 
situated in Notre Dame; see that she is supplied 
with every comfort and advantage. Don’t spare any 
expense for her happiness. I will write to you from time 
to time, and will apprise you of my whereabouts. 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


93 


And now, Mr. Raymond, I must bid you good night. 
Pleasant dreams, sir;” and he walked out. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


Marcia Lewis. 

A FTER Mr. Lewis had retired I sat in wonder - 
ment, and could not associate anything in the 
character of the genteel, well groomed man who 
had just left me with that of a Bowery waif. I sat and 
thought long into the night and reviewed his story 
in my mind as something almost impossible. As it 
was growing late I retired, but not to sleep, for I rolled 
and tossed upon my bed for some hours, and when at 
last I succumbed to drowsiness, I had an awful dream. 
I was back upon the plains of New Mexico, and all 
of the old scenes were enacted over again, but one in 
particular above all the others absorbed my whole 
attention. The one where I was riding for dear life 
with little Beatrice Livingston before me upon my 
pony Rocket, with Geronimo and his red devils in 
hot pursuit. Then in my dream upon a closer inspec- 
tion of little Beatrice, she seemed to take another 
form, that of a beautiful young lady who was no other 
than Marcia Lewis. I had reached that point where 
I was about to fall from my horse, when I awoke with 
a start to find myself covered with a cold perspiration 
and the horror of the dream completely drove sleep 
from me. With the first streaks of dawn appearing 
in the sky, I arose and walked the floor ; try as I would 
I could not shake that awful presentiment from me, 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


95 


nor could I banish it entirely out of my mind. From 
my home to my office, at my desk, everywhere, I could 
see the shadow of Marcia Lewis. She would loom 
up in front of my vision. She was ever at my side. 
She was with me always, and I could not accomplish 
the work I had laid out before me. I found myself 
sitting before my desk with my hands folded behind 
my head, and gazing blankly into my unfinished work. 
I closed my desk for I could not do any more work that 
day. I arose, donned my overcoat and hat and left 
the office with no particular destination in view. Not 
minding which way I turned, I was haunted by the 
vision of Marcia Lewis. How strange it seemed to me 
to be thinking of this young lady whom I never had the 
pleasure of meeting, and who lived only in my imagi- 
nation, called there by her father, whom I had first 
met the evening before. 

What could it mean! I strolled along the busy 
thoroughfares and tried to forget my dream, and banish 
it from me. Late in the afternoon I returned to my 
home, and after dinner I repaired with some friends 
to McVikers Theatre, where we had the pleasure of 
seeing Denman Thompson present his own play, 
“The Old Homestead.” 

What a great relief for one to forget the troubles 
and cares of the day, to still them, to hush them, by 
song and music, to lay them to rest until they are called 
back on the morrow. With many pleasant recollec- 
tions, I reached home, and immediately retired. How 
long I had slept I cannot conjecture, for the old 


g6 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


dream came back to me. There I was once more 
riding for dear life; the same scene over again, up 
to the point where I was about to lose consciousness. 
I awoke with a start, and remained awake during 
the remainder of the long dreary night, with no other 
companion than the ghostly one who seemed to haunt 
me. I can not or will not try to describe the 
horrible feelings that were aroused within me, and I 
must confess that I was afraid to be alone, with my 
ghostly visitor. My dream seemed to cling to me. 
I buried myself in many occupations, so as to drive 
my thoughts into some other channels, all in vain at- 
tempt to forget or set aside my haunting fancy, to 
forget! The next night that same dream came back to 
me with all of its terrors. What did it mean? A 
warning! God in Heaven protect me! Must I take 
this wild ride, night after night? If so, I will go 
mad. 

I related my dream to some friends but they only 
laughed at me and pooh poohed at the idea of a 
full grown man giving way to such childish fancies. 
I could not get any sympathy from any one to whom 
I had related my experiences, and I had made up my 
mind to keep my peace and say no more upon the 
subject. I was growing pale and haggard, for want of 
sleep, and my appetite had left me. I felt like a 
haunted man. Go where I would I could not find 
rest. There before me constantly was the ghostly 
shadow, always beckoning me onward. I tried to 
run away to hide myself like those poor unfortunate 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


97 


people who have the mark of Cain upon their brow, 
and like unto them, I found myself avoiding every one 
and starting nervously at any unusual sound. 

I was startled out of my stupor by a familiar voice 
which seemed to come from the ground, and before 
me stood the Widow Blake, an old Irish woman, who 
always had a cheery w T ord for me ever since the time 
I had made her a small loan to finish paying for her 
little home where she resided in all ease and comfort, 
w r ith her growm up sons and daughters. 

“Arrah, and what ails you, Mr. Raymond? Sure 
you look like a dead man, so white and still. Are you 
sick, or what’s the matter with you anyhow ?” Extend- 
ing her hand to me with a good-natured smile upon 
her face, she said “If I can be of any service to you 
Mr. Raymond, just speak the word, and I will do 
all I can for you.” 

“Mrs. Blake, you were ahvays kind to me, and if I 
could only confide in you I think I w f ould feel better.” 

“Sure and that you can, my boy. Nellie Blake is 
your friend for all time to come. If it wasn’t for you 
I w’ould have lost my little home this twelfth month 
ago. Speak man, what is your trouble? Are you in 
love? Has your sweetheart gone back on you?” 

“No, Mrs. Blake, no love affair this time. It’s 
only a dream.” 

“ Only a dream, Mr. Raymond. It must be some- 
thing awful to make you look like a ghost. Just w T alk 
in, sir, and make yourself at home and tell me all about 
it.” 


9 8 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 

After I was comfortably seated in a pleasant little 
room which she was pleased to call her parlor, I re- 
lated to her my dream as it had occurred. She listened 
in silence and when I had finished she looked up at 
me and with a solemn face said : 

“No wonder, Mr. Raymond, that you are looking 
so bad, for it’s enough to scare a black crow white, and 
make the devil ashamed of himself. But, sir, if you 
will listen to the advice of an old woman, it’s a presenti- 
ment that young Miss Lewis is either ill or in some kind 
of trouble, and needs a helping hand. It’s your duty 
to go to her at once, and see if all is well with her. 
When you come back I am sure sir, that you will have 
no more business in having bad dreams.” 

I took her advice, even if it should amount to nothing, 
as I was unfitted for business and the change might do 
me good. 

I arose to depart with a much lighter heart than 
when I had entered, and as I bade the widow good-bye, 
she murmured, “May God bless you, Mr. Raymond, 
and keep you from all harm, and in your absence I 
will pray for you. Now, be off.” 

Hesitating no longer, I hailed a passing cab and 
without any preparation whatever, I reached Dearborn 
station where I caught a train which was then due to leave 
for Notre Dame. On taking my place in one of the 
sleepers I felt more at ease and my heart was lighter 
than at any time since that awful thrice-told tale had 
appeared in my dreams. As we sped along/ dashing 
past town and village, through fields and meadows, I 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


99 


became aware for the first time^of the absurdity of the 
widow’s advice. On we went and every revolution 
of the wheels brought me nearer my destination. What 
excuse must I offer Miss Lewis for so abruptly disturb- 
ing the stillness of her convent home ? At times I 
must confess that I was on the point of turning back, 
but something would whisper in my ear, “You must 
see her, you must see her.” 

After reaching Notre Dame I made a few inquiries 
and soon reached the convent where Miss Lewis was a 
pupil. After the usual forms of etiquette which are 
maintained in those institutions were over with, I was 
ushered into a grand parlor where I was to await the 
appearance of the Mother Superior. 

I had not long to wait, for in a few" minutes she 
came and I asked her if I could see Miss Lewis. She 
replied, “I am very sorry, Mr. Raymond, but it will 
be impossible for you to see her, as she is now very ill 
and there is small hopes for her recovery. The doctor 
in attendance has forbidden any one to frequent her 
room except the nurse in charge.” 

How many thoughts passed through my mind in that 
short space of time, I was there. Mrs. Blake’s words 
came back to me. My dream was then a presentiment 
after all, and Miss Lewis was very ill. I explained to 
the Mother Superior that I was Miss Lewis’ guardian 
during her father’s absence. She gave her consent if 
I would agree not to disturb her. Of course I would 
agree to anything in order to see my ward. I was con- 
ducted up a long flight of stairs into a very comfortable 


IOO 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


bed room and when my eyes had become accustomed 
to the dim uncertain light I examined my surroundings. 
Tip-toeing around the room was the nurse who motion, 
ed me in silence to a seat near the head of the bed 
As I took the proffered chair I looked upon the bed 
and my eyes were riveted on the face resting on the spot- 
less pillow. Such a beautiful face with its large blue 
eyes, staring wide open at me, and its mass of wavy 
brown hair which set off the deep white forehead. 

What a beautiful picture to behold. With all her 
sickness and suffering Miss Lewis had the most beauti- 
ful face I had ever beheld. With her eyes upon me 
she followed my every movement. 

Then out of the awful stillness she uttered a heart 
rending scream, and extended both hands to me, and 
said, “Oh, save me, Mr. Alden, save me!” 

I took her hands in mine and she closed her eyes 
and sank into a deep sleep, which only comes to those 
exhausted. 

The nurse stood horror-stricken at what she saw, 
and for the life of me I could not open my mouth, for 
I could not utter one word in explanation of the ex- 
traordinary scene which had taken place. 

When the Mother Superior had been apprised of 
what had transpired, and how Miss Lewis had fallen 
asleep, the first deep sleep the had experienced since 
she was taken ill, the Mother Superior did not ask me 
to leave when the time allowed me was up, but bade 
me stay and to come as often as I wished. I held 
those bonnie white hands in mine for some hours, never 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


IOI 


moving and scarcely breathing lest I might disturb 
the silence and awaken the sleeper. When at last 
she awoke, she uttered a little sigh of relief, exclaiming: 

“Mr. Raymond, it was so good of you to come,” 
and smiled upon me. That smile, and those beautiful 
eyes that gazed into mine set my heart to throbbing 
most violently, as if it wished to be released from its 
moorings. The blood rushed to my face and itjvas 
wreathed in scarlet. A lump had risen in my throat 
and I stammered and stuttered and finally mumbled 
out that I was glad that I had come. I was so con- 
fused that I could not say more, and what 
a relief to me when the doctor came into the room and 
asked her if she was better. 

“Yes Doctor, so much better, thank you.” she 
-answered, in the sweetest voice, which was music to 
my ears. The doctor’s appearance in the room gave 
me an opportunity to collect my scattered senses, and 
when he had completed his visit and had left the room 
my embarrassment had completely left me and I was 
once more myself. 

As it was growing late I arose to depart, having been 
in the sick room for several hours. I lingered over the 
small white hand which lay within mine. I raised it 
to my lips as a token of my sympathy for the suffering 
one and gazed into the beautiful blue eyes of her, who 
lay so still before me. Releasing the hold upon her 
hand, I strode towards the door, but before reaching 
it I was arrested by her voice: 


102 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


“Mr. Raymond you will please me very much if 
you will come back again.” 

I promised, as nothing would give me more pleasure. 
When the convent gates closed behind me I looked 
into my heart, and there I could read how much I 
loved Marcia Lewis. I was happy. My heart grew 
light and once more the sun shone brightly for me. 
Would I renew my visit to the convent? There was 
only one answer to that question, and that was, yes. 
Every day at the same hour saw me rapping at the con- 
vent gates for admission, which was never denied me. 
Every day saw Marcia Lewis grow stronger and as the 
days passed into weeks, and the weeks lengthened into 
months, I was constantly at her side. During this 
time my love for her grew stronger, and when she had 
almost regained her health, I was compelled to lesfre 
for Chicago, called there on some business which only 
I in person could transact. On the eve of my departure 
when about to turn my back upon Notre Dame, where 
I had spent so many happy days, and to bid Miss Lewis 
good bye, I plucked up courage while at her side in 
the convent garden, to tell her of my love for her, and 
asked her to be my wife. She only looked at me out 
of the depths of her bonnie blue eyes, and a sad smile 
crept over her beautiful face, and she answered: 

“I am afraid, Mr. Raymond, that can not be, for 
when you know that part of my life which is my secret, 
you would not care to have me for your wife.” 

These strange words uttered from those beautiful 
lips only fanned my love into an unbearable heat, a 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


103 


consuming fire, and I answered: “I care not for the 
past, no matter what your secret may be. I love you 
and nothing can come between us, if you will only 
say yes. Let bygones be bygones, and forget the 
secret which overshadows your life; let it fade, as in the 
gloaming.” 

She was silent for a short time, and was the first to 
break the lull that intervened in our conversation. 

“Mr. Raymond, I esteem the confidence you have 
placed in me more than anything else in the world and 
if you will be patient for a short time while I think over 
what you have said, I will then give you an answer.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 


Found at Last. 

T HREE days later while I was looking over the 
mail which had been deposited upon my desk 
I came across a tiny envelope of lavender hue 
delicately perfumed with the odor of violets. I hastily 
scanned the address, when the postmark came within 
the range of my vision. It was from her, the girl I 
loved, and must contain her answer. With bated 
breath, I tore open the envelope and this is what I 
read : 

“Dear Mr. Raymond: — You will pardon the 
liberty I take in addressing you, as I am fulfilling the 
promise I made you a few days ago. This is my answer, 
and I leave you to decide, to be the judge of your own 
destiny, whether for better or worse. I am about to 
begin my confession,, my secret which is known to none 
but Mr. Lewis and myself. 

“Mr. Lewis has been a good and generous father 
to me, although no relation whatever. 

“My name is not Marcia Lewis, as you think. I 
was a homeless, penniless and nameless waif, when my 
foster father took me to his heart, gave me his name, 
and called me daughter. 

“ I have some faint remembrances of the past, stored 
away in my memory, but the light that shines upon 
them is always clouded. Would to God that some 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


i°S 

day a light might shine into my darkened past and re- 
veal to my memory the dull shadows that dwell therein. 
Reveal to me my heritage, my parents, and my name. 
Day after day, I pray that God in His infinite mercy 
will illuminate my mind, that I may know who and 
what I am. In the long ago, it seems to me that you 
were somewhere present in this darkened past of mine. 
I once knew a Mr. Alden, and he was a very dear 
person to me. Nay, I even loved him, though I was 
only a wee bit of a lass, but his memory is still sacred 
to me. I would make any sacrifice if I could find him, 
for he would tell me all, and relieve my poor over- 
burdened brain. 

“When you read this and can still love me and care 
to marry a nameless girl, my answer is Yes. Your 
affections are reciprocated, but remember you are as 
free as the wind to do or undo, to rescind the words 
you have spoken. And now, adieu ! 

“Always sincerely, 

“Marcia.” 

When I had finished reading her dear letter I was 
much confused and my head began to buzz and strange 
noises seemed to smite my ears, still I was happy. She 
loved me and her answer was, yes. 

No more work for me that day, and I felt like some 
school boy for I threw my hat high into the air, and 
when it came down I put it upon my head, and the 
next instant I was in the street. I turned and gazed 
through the window to see if any one had noticed 
my childish actions. One of the junior clerks was 


io6 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


pointing at me with one hand. With the other he 
pointed at his forehead and bursting out laughing, ran 
away. By his actions I knew that he had seen me, 
and was commencing to think that I was going out of 
my head. I smiled back at him and passed on, not 
caring what they thought. My destination was the 
Widow Blake’s. When I stepped upon the veranda of 
her little home, she came to meet me smiling. 

“Arrah, and it’s looking more like yourself, you are, 
Mr. Raymond.” 

“Am feeling more like myself, thank you, Mrs. Blake, 
I replied, and tears of joy appeared in her poor old eyes. 

“ Thank God,” she murmured “ and if it pleases you, 
come in, and tell me all about it.” 

I complied with her request, for it was my intention 
to ask her advice in this matter. 

When I finished relating to her all of my adventures, 
while in Notre Dame, I even took the liberty of reading 
her Miss Lewis’ letter. She sat in silence until I had 
finished my narrative, and then exclaimed : 

“It’s proud of you I am this day, sir, you have be- 
haved like a real Irish gentleman, for in the days of 
old when Ireland abounded with kings and princesses, 
they would marry no lady unless there was some oppo- 
sition, some romance to the match. I might relate 
to you many, many stories of battered castle walls, 
duels to death, over the smile of some beautiful lady. 
This is why poor old Ireland is in bondage to this day, 
and the boasted blood and her noble children who bear 
the proud names of their glorious parents, are called 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


107 


peasants, all on account of a beautiful but faithless 
woman. I will not bother you, sir, by relating bygone 
doings of the kings and princesses of long ago. For- 
give me the question, sir, for I am only an inquisitive 
old woman, but I would like to know what you are 
going to do now. If you love the girl, marry her, 
and be happy for a marriage without love will come 
to no good end.” 

“ Mrs. Blake, I have come to you for advice. Can I 
depend upon you?” 

“ That you can, Mr. Raymond, for I am your friend. 
Did you not — ” 

“Hush, Mrs. Blake, you have nothing to thank me 
for and I am satisfied that you will assist me all you can. 
And now I will tell you my secret. I am almost posi- 
tive that Marcia Lewis and Beatrice Livingston are 
one and the same person, but to tell Miss Lewis this 
in her weak condition might upset her and cause a 
relapse of her recent illness. I have a plan to unfold, 
and you must assist me. Next month, September, I 
am going to visit my parents on the Livingston ranch, 
and I am not going alone for Miss Lewis and yourself 
will accompany me. You to act as her maid and com- 
panion. When we reach the ranch we will try by 
familiar scenes and faces to illuminate her darkened 
memory, and bring back to her her long forgotten 
name and heritage. Will you go with us, Mrs. Blake?” 

“How can you ask that question, Mr. Raymond. 
If I have to walk there and back upon my knees, I 
would do so without a murmur for you.” 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


10S 

I thanked her and as I arose to depart I gave her a 
small pocket book containing a snug sum of money to 
replenish her wardrobe with while we prepared for 
our future journey. She hesitated for some time but 
after a great deal of persuasion on my part she finally 
accepted it. She thanked me from the bottom of her 
heart and I departed leaving her muttering blessings 
after me. 

The days passed slowly and at last the fifteenth of 
September had arrived, the day set for our departure. 
The hour of nine found us, — Miss Lewis, Mrs. 
Blake and myself boarding the Sante Fe Limited, for 
New Mexico. There was no one happier in our small 
party than Mrs. Blake, and she looked her best, for her 
wardrobe was fine and no one could set off a dress to 
better advantage. No doubt in her youth Nellie 
Blake was a very handsome girl. 

Nothing worth mentioning transpired during our 
journey, and after three days of fast travelling, we found 
ourselves at our destination. I did not apprise my 
parents of our intended visit, and when we drove up 
to the gate and alighted from the old ramshackle 
stage coach and walked into the house, they were ex- 
ceedingly surprised to see me, and their astonishment 
knew no bounds when I related to them in secret the 
strange story of Marcia Lewis. Late into the night 
my father and I talked the situation over. Plan after 
plan was discussed and with much difficulty we formed 
one, which on the morrow we would put into execu- 
tion. My father was to invite Miss Lewis to accompany 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


109 


him for a drive over the ranch, which would ter- 
minate at the Red Butts, where he was to keep her 
interested until I rode past at full speed, carrying a 
little child in front of me upon a horse pursued by a 
whooping band of redskins. If her memory did not 
fail her she would remember this one incident, which 
actually occurred in her life. 

The next morning my father drove away with Miss 
Lewis at his side. I called all of the men together, 
all that could be spared, and dressed them as best I 
could to represent Indians. I did not need to give them 
any instructions, as they all knew what was required 
of them. 

Having dressed in the suit I had worn on that memor- 
able day when I carried little Beatrice Livingston into 
the midst of brave Pat Garrett’s men to safety, we 
started forth, and on our way to the Red Butts, we 
stopped at Jack Oglevy’s place where we secured one 
of his little daughters to represent Beatrice Living- 
ston, in her wild ride for life when she was being pur- 
sued by Geronimo and his band of red fiends. Upon 
reaching the place where we had decided to start the 
race I gathered the little girl in my arms, put spurs 
to my horse, and away like the wind we went closely 
followed by the whooping savages. As we neared the 
Red Butts, where my father and Miss Lewis stood, 
the Indians fired volley after volley at me. I did not 
slacken my pace, but dashed madly on. Passing the 
Red Butts, I turned in my saddle and saw Miss Lewis 


no 


DOWN AT STEIN'S PASS. 


clap both hands over her face, as if to blot out the hor- 
ror of the scene just presented before her vision. 

I saw no more. How successful our plan had been 
I could not say. On reaching home I found Miss 
Lewis in a deep swoon. In the meantime my father 
told me all that had happened in the few minutes that 
had intervened from the time I had passed the Red 
Butts, until I arrived at the house. I took a seat by the 
bedside and watched my mother and sister as they restor- 
ed her to consciousness. Almost an hour had elapsed 
before she opened her eyes. Looking around the room 
at each eager face that surrounded her, she exclaimed: 

“ Was it a dream ? No, it could not be, for I saw him. 
My prayer is answered. Since coming here I have 
seen some familiar faces, and my surroundings tell 
me that I have lived here in the long ago. That name 
Livingston, how sweet it sounds in my ears! Who 
bore that name? Ah me! If I could only remember." 

“You shall remember," I interrupted her, and she 
gazed at me for the first time. “Oh, Mr. Alden, I have 
prayed long for this hour. Thank God I have found 
you. It is all coming back to me. My eyes are at 
last opened to reality and the darkened shadows of the 
past are now aglow with light. I remember all!" 

Thrusting her hand into the bosom of her dress 
she brought forth a tiny gold locket. Handing it to 
me she said: 

“Tell me, Mr. Alden, if the pictures contained in 
this locket are those of my parents?" 

I opened the locket and there before my gaze was 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


hi 


revealed the face of Patrick Livingston and his beauti- 
ful wife, who had given up their lives that their daughter 
might live. Those faces brought back to me the never- 
to be forgotten memories of the past. 

“Yes, Beatrice,” I answered, “those are good like- 
nesses of your parents.” 

“And who am I, Mr. Raymond?” 

“Beatrice Livingston, their only child.” 

“Then God be praised!” exclaimed Mrs. Blake. 
“ And it’s happy I am this day to know that the mystery 
In your life, Miss Livingston, is cleared away.” 

Before Beatrice Livingston was completely restored 
to health she was aware of every item of importance 
concerning her past life, and she was happy in the 
thought that she had found the honorable name which 
was hers, by right of inheritance. Each day she 
grew stronger and stronger, and towards the middle of 
October she was herself once more. 

I had decided to return to Chicago when she was 
completely restored to health, and the time for me to 
depart was at hand. The morning before I was to 
start I asked Miss Livingston, my father and mother 
to come together so that I could tell them all about the 
Livingston estate as I wished to turn everything over 
to Beatrice Livingston, the rightful owner. 

When we were all seated in the parlor of the little 
ranch house, I related my narrative from the time I 
had first met Patrick Livingston until the present day, 
and when I had finished my story I found my mother 
and Miss Livingston in tears, but they were happy ones 


112 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


and of short duration. When their agitation had 
abated Beatrice bade me call all of the men together 
who had served her father and my father so faithfully 
during all of those long years since her last visit to the 
ranch. 

They answered the summons of their young mistress 
and appeared before her with uncovered heads. What 
a contrast 1 They so bronzed and grizzled, and she so 
fair and white. When they were all assembled she 
exclaimed: “My dear friends, as you have served my 
father and Mr. Raymond so faithfully all these years, 
I will present you with a token of my esteem. For 
your bravery in saving me from death at the hands of 
Geronimo and his fellow-bandits some years ago, ac- 
cept this slight token of my lifelong gratitude,” with 
these words handing each one a dosed envelope con- 
taining a check for a goodly sum of money. “Should 
you all, in your old age, need more, come to me. My 
purse shall be open to you as long as I live. And to 
you, Mr. Raymond, I give all land, buildings and 
stock known as the Livingston Ranch.” 

My father protested against such munificent generosity, 
but Beatrice thought that all she could do for her life 
guardians in this world was of slight consideration in 
comparison with what they had done for her. 

Holding out her hands which I took in mine, she said : 
“Alden, I have nothing great and good enough to offer 
you for your faithfulness in keeping your promise to 
my dying parents. Nothing can ever pay the debt I 
owe you for your undying efforts to find me and to 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


ii3 

restore me to my name and inheritance. Do you still 
have for your Beatrice the same feelings as formerly? 
Am I still to continue happy in the possession of your 
love? Are your words to me in the little garden of 
Notre Dame still the interpreters of your ardent love 
for Beatrice?” 

“How shall I ever forget them? But they belong 
to the past. When I spoke of love it was to Marcia 
Lewis, and not to Beatrice Livingston. Do not men- 
tion those words; forget them; forget me. For what 
would the world say if the report should go out that 
Miss Beatrice Livingston, heiress, is engaged to marry 
Alden Raymond, pauper? The natural answer to 
such a question would be that you married me through 
gratitude, and I you for your wealth. Do not com- 
promise your wealth and social position for unw r orthy 
Alden Raymond. You know that I love you, more as 
my ideal Beatrice Livingston than when I knew you as 
Marcia Lewis. I have always loved Beatrice, ever 
since the time I gathered her close to my heart in that 
wild ride for life, and I fear that the gulf which now* 
separates us can never be bridged. With a little wait- 
ing you will find one more worthy of your love and es- 
teem than Alden. Let the dead past bury its dead and 
let me be a brother to you.” 

At the earnestness of my words Beatrice grew grave 
and said in tones of seriousness: 

“Is this how you feel about our engagement? Then 
I must tell you what I think of it: Did you not make 
love and propose marriage to me, sir?” 


DOWN AT STEIN’S PASS. 


1 14 

“ Yes,” I answered. 

“What was my answer to you, yes or no?” 

“You answered yes,” I replied. 

“Very well, you have obtained my consent, and un- 
less you keep your engagement, I shall have to insti- 
tute a case of breach of promise against you.” 

A gentle smile of appealing tenderness lighted her as- 
sumed serious countenance. My father, my mother 
and Mrs. Blake catching the meaning of her words 
and the contagion of her loving smile, exclaimed all 
in one accord: “Beatrice and Alden, you were made 
for each other.” 

No sooner had these words reached our ears than 
Beatrice’s white arms stole around my neck and her 
cherry lips pressed against mine. 

The rest is easy to guess and short to tell. Our 
wedding was set for January the nineteenth, two days 
after Mr. Lewis’ return from his trip to Europe. 

We were married quietly in a small private chapel, 
at an early hour in the morning, and left the church to 
embark for our honeymoon trip on board a steamer 
bound for historic France. 

THE END. 


H 5 . 78 *3 














































» 


























P. S. McGeeney. 

BOOKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR SOON TO BE 
PUBLISHED. 

“LORRAINE,” A Historical romance of the South. 

“THE VIPER,” A Romance of New Orleans, Blending to- 
gether North and South. 

“HELEN KNOX of NASHVILLE.” A Romance of the 
Spanish- American War. 

“THE 4D RANCH,” A Romance of the Indian Territory. 
“THE POWER OF LOVE,” A Double Romance. 

Dedicated to Guadalupe Council No. 1050, 
Knights of Columbus, City of Mexico. 




















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